


The Harrowed   Heart

by writerfan2013



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: AU, Angst, But comes back where you want it, F/M, Locklyle, Loneliness, No Spoilers, Romance, This story went in a very strange direction, ok some spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerfan2013/pseuds/writerfan2013
Summary: Lucy is alone, working jobs with the skull and Quill after the end of TEG. And loneliness is a strange thing which can lead to surprising decisions...and some very awkward situations.What if love doesn't have to be forever? Is it ok to sort of love someone?What if someone loves you very secretly and will do anything to get close to you? Even if it involves lies, many sordid remarks and borrowing someone else's body?Featuring everybody. Lots of angst, romance and heartbreak, sarcasm and awkwardness.I started writing this because I love Quill, and the skull. And then I couldn't stop.





	1. The lonely girl

The lonely boys are always the best kissers. Your confident, cocksure types have a good idea about what they're doing and proceed to do it regardless of whether you actually like it or not. Lonely boys want to please. They'll do anything you say you like. They'll try hard, all the time. They are grateful and amazed that you want to kiss them back.

Lonely boys are the best.

I should have realised sooner, therefore, what was really going on. But I didn't, and everything that happened took me by surprise, right to the very end.

* * *

Quill Kipps and I had been working together for a few months, on and off, when we took the trip to Yorkshire that almost killed us. Up until that point we'd done smallish jobs, London based, and I'd only called him in when I needed backup. With the goggles he could see ghosts despite his now advanced age of twenty two. At my own advanced age of eighteen I had no trouble with my psychic Sight, though I knew the end was coming - when I got to my twenties it would dwindle and fade. Despite his age handicap, on ghost hunting jobs Quill was eager and brave and only moaned fifty percent of the time about the cold or the damp or the way I never let him go into a deadly haunted situation first.

After a few jobs, and one time I lost patience and told him to shut up with the complaining or he could find his own work from now on, the moaning dwindled to a manageable twenty percent.

My one woman agency brought in a good amount of work. I admit this was helped by my prior association with Lockwood. After we stopped Marissa Fittes and her plundering of the Other Side, we became minor celebrities. Lockwood, of course, was fabulously popular, even after he left the country with the other Lockwood agents, Holly and George. Me, I stayed behind. So did Quill Kipps.

I shamelessly played on what little fame I had to get jobs. Quill had been doubly punished in life - cast out by his employer for helping Lockwood, and rendered useless as an agent by age. I gave him work whenever I could. We'd never particularly been friends, but in a haunted situation, I trusted him.

And of course I still had the skull. Free of its jar, it sat on the windowsill of my tiny studio flat, and at night its ghost, the thin youth with the spiky hair, would drift into view, lounge arrogantly against my washing machine, and make sarcastic remarks as I watched telly.

He came with me on jobs, loping along beside me if I brought the skull in my bag. He notionally helped me identify psychic sources, but a lot of the time just made revolting suggestions until I threatened to throw the skull in the furnaces where dangerous sources were destroyed.

I wasn't sure he actually needed to stay so close to his source - I'd never met such a powerful spirit - but either way, he kept turning up.

I didn't mind. The undead spirit of a Victorian youth isn't much as a flatmate, but it was better than the nothing I had otherwise.

So that was my life - living alone except for a sarcastic ghost, working enough nights to make a living, sleeping late in the day and occasionally being unable to avoid news of my former employer and former friend, the brilliant Anthony Lockwood.

Then one day a maroon three-door car chugged up my street and parked on the kerb outside my flat. I looked out of my window - its sputtering noise was distinctive, not to say alarming - and there was Quill, slamming the door and then adjusting the wing mirror back to vertical after the impact. He looked up, saw me and waved. I pressed the flat's buzzer and let him in.

"You've got a car!"

He twirled the keys. "It gives us more options for work. We could take jobs out of town, earn more cash."

Rural jobs paid more because agents were hard to find outside the big cities.

"Hmmn. I didn't even know you could drive."

"Want to come for a spin?" He wore his usual plain sweater and black jeans, pointed shoes. The last vestiges of the unbearably flashy dresser he'd been in his youth.

I glanced around at my pigsty of a flat. I had a couple of options today, actually - cleaning, or doing laundry. "OK. Where to?"

"Well. I actually have a job lined up. A big one. I've come to ask for your help." He grinned at me. Quill, the bringer of employment.

"You mention the car first and then this?"

"You mentioned the car. I would have just strolled in casually -"

"Yeah right, with a massive bunch of car keys dangling from your fingers -"

"And not said anything til it was time to go. Which it is, now, by the way."

"Now?"

"If we're going to get there before dark." He hesitated, then added, "It's in Yorkshire."

I folded my arms. "I'm not getting into any car and going to Yorkshire before you tell me every detail about this job."

Quill said, "I'll put the kettle on, then."

* * *

Yorkshire is a long way away, especially in a car which refuses to go above sixty miles an hour without a lot of clacking and clunking.

We trundled up the motorway and made good time for a couple of hours. Quill appeared to be sane behind the wheel. I relaxed and looked out of the window, not that there was much to see - mostly iron clad long-distance trucks from the continent, delivering goods to remote parts of Britain.

When we left the motorway and entered rural roads, things changed. Quill rolled up his sleeves and said, "Here's where it gets fun."

"Is this mutually exclusive of getting there alive? Because as you know from my lifestyle, I can live without fun."

"Don't worry," he said. "I just enjoy driving."

And he did. He drove fast, throwing the little car into corners and powering away on the other side; we swooped down valleys and up to the crests of hills. Quill was focused, hands light on the wheel, his eyes darting side to side as he took in the road, the traffic, the terrain.

It made a change from taking the Tube, anyway.

We stopped for tea at a run down pub high up in a pass between two peaks. It had surprisingly few ghost defences.

"Don't get em up here," said the landlord. "Too high, I reckon."

"Maybe nobody died up here," Quill said.

"Oh, they die all right," said the landlord. "But they don't come back."

"Comforting." I ordered egg and chips, large. Quill hesitated.

"It's on me," I said, "since you're doing all the driving." He gave me a grateful look and muttered a thanks.

I knew he was not well off. But he had a car. He couldn't be doing so badly. Could he?

Dipping my chips into my runny egg, I watched him eat. Now that I really looked at him - not something I had the luxury to do at midnight, firing flares at ghosts with him waving his rapier about behind me - he looked starving. His face, always pinched and foxy, was thinner than ever. His skin was pale - the freckles across his nose stood out. His gingery hair stuck up in rebellious spikes and his shoulders were hunched and tired. But his eyes were bright. Grey eyes, I noticed. I'd never thought about it before.

"You all right?' he said. "Not carsick or anything?"

"Do I look carsick?" I gestured at the mountain of food we'd destroyed between us.

"You look great," he said.

"What?"

"I mean no. Just making sure you're not suffering in silence."

"Hardly likely, Quill."

"True."

"Oi!"

He just grinned.

We finished our meals and then I looked at him again and said, "Pudding? Have we got time?"

"Only if you're having pudding," he said.

"Of course." I scanned the menu. "What's tea without pudding? Spotted dick, or steamed treacle sponge?'

"Treacle. Something about the other one puts me off."

"Fair point." I ate three mouthfuls of mine and pushed the bowl towards him. "I can't manage this."

"Oh. Do you mind if -"

"Go ahead."

It was not Quill's fault he was poor. He'd helped us and been punished for it. And at his age, trying to find supernatural work was hard, even with the goggles that let him see ghosts.

Teaming up with me was probably his best source of income. And we got on OK. When he wasn't moaning.

But then, who wouldn't complain if they were hungry?

Guilt stabbed me. My business was going all right. I should formalise things, make him a proper employee. Carlyle and Kipps. Hmm. Maybe just, Carlyle and Co.

"Quill," I said, and stopped. I had always worked alone. I was good at alone. Especially now. Alone was practically my top skill.

He paused, the spoon of sponge pudding halfway to his mouth.

"Nothing," I said. "A crazy thought."

We got back in the car and he put the radio on and whistled along to it as we chuntered north.

"What's this?" I asked. The melody was all hoots and be-bops.

"A tune my mum used to sing."

"Is she..."

"No, she's still alive, just doesn't sing it anymore."

"Oh." It was funny how we never talked about personal stuff.

"How about you? Hear from your sisters lately, your mum?"

"No."

"We're up north," he said, glancing sideways at me. "We could pop in."

"They live in Northumberland. To put that into context, that's another hundred miles north of where we're going.'

"I don't mind."

"I'll think about it."

"What," he said as I lapsed into silence. "Don't you get on with your folks?"

"Yes. Well. I mean I do, but they don't get it. Why I live in London, what I do for a living. They don't understand what we did, what we all did, last year. Before Lockwood-"

I bit off the sentence.

"Went off with everyone else to South America," said Quill.

"Mmn."

"He asked me," Quill said into the silence that followed. 'He came and invited me personally. Said it would be good to have another perspective on things."

I hadn't known that. I'd always thought Quill had been forgotten. "Why didn't you go? It would have been a great opportunity. And, you know. Work."

Quill shrugged. "Didn't fancy it. Have you seen the size of the insects they have out there?" He shuddered. "I don't relish waking up with one of those in my hammock. Or waking up in a hammock at all, come to that." He glanced across at me. "I was surprised you didn't go."

"Mmn." Perhaps my monosyllables would give the clue.

He didn't take the hint. "Why didn't you?"

I stared out of my window, my face turned from him. "Lockwood and I fell out."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's Ok."

"Not over anything serious, I hope. I mean, you two were good together-"

"Shut up now, Quill."

"Sorry."

We drove quite a way into the Yorkshire moors without speaking. I kept my face turned from him and tried to think about anything except Lockwood and what had happened between us and how he and the others were now on the other side of the world and I was here, alone, with nobody.

Well, nobody except the skull. The ghost of the thin youth appeared every so often, but he seemed able to wander, and only returned to the skull, his source, when he felt like it. Or when he felt like a right good gripe, which was more often.

I smiled.

The skull was actually in my bag on the back seat. I'd get it out when we arrived, and see if the ghost would talk. He might be sarcastic, foul-mouthed and with some disturbing tendencies, but he was good company.

Not that Quill was bad. I just needed to stop comparing everybody to-

I crushed that thought. It didn't help. Another few minutes of staring at nothing out of my window and I would be fine. Beside me, Quill switched off the radio.

Then he reached out and touched my knee. I jumped.

'The moon," he said. "Look."

I followed his pointing finger. Although it was only late afternoon in October, a huge yellow moon was rising above the trees on the hill ahead of us. Wisps of black cloud clung around it, but its unearthly light silvered the road and showed the sky as a glowing grey spread of faint stars.

Quill whistled. "You don't see much of that in London."

"You do where I grew up," I said.

"I meant what I said. I'll give you a lift up there."

"What would you do while I saw my family?" I tried to picture the urbane Quill in the tiny village in the Cheviots where I grew up, and failed.

"Look around. Never been so far north. Are there polar bears?"

"Ha, ha." I pondered, and then a marvellous feeling of what the hell came over me. "All right, let's do it. When we've done this job. I could do with the time off." I grinned. "You can stay at our house, I can watch my mum disapprove of a Londoner and you can watch my sisters fall over themselves trying to impress a man from out of town. They're all ancient, by the way. Even older than you."

"Enticing."

"Or you can sleep in the car. Your choice."

"I'll see how I get on."

Then the car, as if hearing us, stuttered and rolled to a dead stop at the side of the deserted road, as the light was fading and the moon was high in the sky.


	2. The breakdown

"Oh," said Quill. He turned the key in the ignition, but the car would not start. "We're only a mile or so from the place. But I don't fancy pushing it along this road in the dark."

We got out of the car and he opened the bonnet and we both stood there looking at the engine in the evening light. "Do you know anything about cars?" I asked.

"Not really."

"Right." I flicked on my torch. "Well, nothing's smoking, so that's good." I bent down to inspect the ground under the car. "I can't see anything leaking, either. Must be good too, right? What about fuel?"

"Fuel's all right," he said, leaning into the car to check the gauges. "It's just ... stopped."

We looked around. This patch of road lay in a cleft between two rocky slopes. The road ran on one sde of the cleft, and in the other the ground fell away fifty feet to a boulder-strewn stream. A few groups of scrubby trees stood here and there on the slopes, but otherwise this was as desolate a place as you could imagine.

"That's a lethal bend," said Quill. "Take that too fast and you'd get a closeup of the valley floor, sharpish."

I didn't like it. "Hmmn." A psychic sound pressed on my ears. "What's that?"

Quill knew that tone. "I'll get my goggles."

"Whatever it is, it's close by."

We scrambled to the boot and fetched our kit. With a rapier in my hand I felt better, but the psychic wailing didn't stop.

Suddenly I remembered the skull. "Oh!"

I took it out of the bag in the back seat and brushed biscuit crumbs off it. "Spirit," I said, "are you there?"

 _Duh. Not_  there _, obviously._

I whirled around and there he was, lounging by a boulder, picking at his nails: a slender youth with ostentatious black hair and glittering dark eyes, watching me with arrogant disinterest. -Story of my life.

"What's wrong with the car?" I demanded.

_How would I know? I died before cars were a thing, remember?_

"I mean, is it a ghost-related phenomenon?"

He snorted, and flicked away some imaginary speck from his sleeve. _You two hotshots can work that out for yourselves, surely?_ He adjusted his old-fashioned jacket with exaggerated fastidiousness.

"Probably but a little help would be nice."

_A little casual murder would be nice but we can't always get what we want. What are you doing up here with Kipps?_

"Travelling."

_Oho._

"For work."

 _Oho!_  He made an extremely lewd gesture and I could only hope that Quill's goggles were not good with detailed psychic phenomena.

"Shut up. It's not like that and you know it." I made a gesture of my own to back up the point.

"Shall I run him through?" asked Quill, sensing the time of the skull's conversation. He hefted his rapier in his hand. "I don't mind."

"No. Also, you probably can't, he's incredibly powerful."

The ghost of the youth made a mock swoon.  _Ooh, flattery, I love it. Keep up the sweet talk and maybe I won't strangle Kipps in his sleep tonight. Which at this rate will be in this car since you're obviously not going anywhere._

"Skull," I said. "No strangling of anyone, anywhere."

_Or you'll what?_

It had a good point. "Or I will find out your real name and use it at every opportunity. Or just make up a nickname for you. Jeffrey. How about that?"

 _Ugh_.

"Jeff. Jeffo. That suits you. Or maybe Melvin, Mel for short. Melly..."

 _There's a Slithering Sprite under the car_ , said the ghost sulkily.  _It's wrapped round your engine._

I jumped back. So did Quill. I relayed the ghost's information.

We both crouched cautiously on the ground. "I don't see anything," I said. "Of course, my sight isn't as good as -" Lockwood's.

"I've got a faint glow," said Quill. He crouched down to peer cautiously under the car. "Very faint. Can you hear anything?"

I listened. "A kind of keening. Doesn't sound like a Sprite, but I've not dealt with many of them. And a kind of... burping sound."

 _That would be me_ , said the thin youth.  _I'm thinking about what you'd taste like if I sucked up your essence and swallowed it right down, yum._

"Not helping."

_But delicious, right?_

"Jeffrey."

"I think it's actually  _in_  the engine," said Quill. He straightened up, brushing off his jeans, and pushed his hair away from the goggles. "What do we do about that? How come it isn't stopped by the iron?"

"Old car," I said. "Lightweight panelling... probably not enough solid iron to stop it. We could toss a flare into the engine, but -"

"-No!"

"That would destroy the car. Maybe some iron filings..."

"Anything in the engine will destroy it." He tore at his hair. "Salt, iron, magnesium..."

 _Better start walking then._  The ghost jerked his thumb out in a parody of hitch hiking.  _Wiggle your bottom and you might get a lift Lucy, but I don't give much for Kipps' chances._

I ignored that. "OK. So we have a sprite stymying the engine. What have we got to get rid of it? What do sprites want?"

 _Same as we all want_ , said the ghost.  _A little love, a little tenderness, a little sucking of souls from reluctant physical bodies..._

"Suction," I said. "That's it. Quill, can we find a tube. Plug it in the exhaust."

"I am  _not_  sucking a ghost."

The ghost guffawed so loudly I flinched.

"What," said Quill.

"Nothing. Disgusting."

It was too dark to see if he blushed as he realised what he'd said.

_If you've finished arranging your kinky evening plans, you might want to take a look at the scenery._

We spun away from the car. I swore, and my hands went to my rapier, and my belt with its salt bombs and magnesium flares.

Emerging from behind boulders and trees was a flock of small ghosts, drifting in the early moonlight, coming for us with their arms outstretched. They glowed pale blues and green and had a lost, hungry look about them. And they were in school uniform.

* * *

I grabbed Quill's arm and dragged him back. We were about to be trapped between the ghosts and the sprite. The ghost of the thin youth watched us with interest.

"There's too many of them," I said. "If they get close we'd never fight them all off. We could get in the car -"

"Which we've already established is not made of anything useful like solid iron -"

"Or we can run."

"I'll take option B, please," said Quill.

"Right. Up the hill. They seem to live at the bottom of this little valley. Let's hope that pub landlord was right and they don't like hills." I snatched up my bag and slung it over my shoulder. It held extra flares, salt bombs, and importantly, my favourite skirt. Quill grabbed his rucksack.

_Oh, don't mind me. Feel free to abandon me among a troupe of drooling ghouls while you save your own skins. I'm sure I'll be fine._

"I happen to know you could destroy this little lot with one blow." I stuffed the skull in my bag. "So why don't you?"

_It's much more fun to see you run._

"Great. Let's go."

We ran for it. The nearest miniature ghost came within a hand's breadth of me as I passed, but didn't touch me. If it had, I'd be dead - I didn't have any adrenaline shots with me, the only hope if you get ghost-touched. It can still leave you with a blackened scar, but that's better than being frozen to death, your life's essence drained from you by the ravening hunger of the desperate dead.

"Where's the place we're going?" I gasped to Quill as we scrambled up the hill. Clumps of heather competed with rocks to trip us up.

"In the next valley. Big place, used to be a school." He cursed as he stumbled over a tree root in the near darkness, then held out his hand to help me round it.

_I see Kipps can't keep his paws off you. These business trips are all the same. Lots of time cooped up together, drinks after work, then back to the hotel room for some extra curricular fun._

"Shut up!"

_I can't decide if I want you to leave me where I can watch, or turn me away._

"I'll turn you into a pulp if you carry on like that."

"I assume you're not talking to me," said Kipps, releasing my hand as we reached the crest of the hill.

"Correct. I think we've lost them. Is that a thing, ghosts who don't like heights? George would know."

"Let's ask him later. Much later when we're safely down there." He pointed to a large building with steep gables at the bottom of the next valley. Bizarrely, it seemed to be strung with fairy lights.

"Are they expecting us?" I said. "Or Father Christmas?"

_Oh good, you've stopped to chat. That'll give these ghosts a chance to catch up._

Behind us the little ghosts were swarming. Quill's car was enveloped in a shimmering green glow.

"Dammit. Thanks, skull. Come on, Quill."

We made it to the old school as the ghosts flowed over the top of the hill. Quill was quite the sprinter in a peril situation, and though running's not my thing, I gave a pretty good show myself.

We flung ourselves at the door, hammering to be let in. Our sweating faces glimmered in the colourful lights draped all around the building.

At last the door opened. A large woman in a tight silver dress beamed at us. Beside her, a teenage girl in a waiter's uniform held a tray of drinks. "You must be the London agents! Come in, come in! The party's just getting started, but I'm sure you can work around that." The teenage girl shrieked and backed away, pointing over our shoulders. Our hostess peered past us. "Oh. How efficient. I suppose that means you've already found the ghosts."

* * *

 

"I have a bad feeling about this," I said to Quill as Mrs Kettlesing led us into the building. "Run the ghost research past me again."

Quill said, "This place used to be a school. Abandoned for years. Now it's been bought by this Mrs Kettlesing to transform into a community centre for a few of the little villages round here. But the scout groups have reported seeing a loaf of small ghosts, and the toddler play sessions have had to be cancelled because of the screaming." He quirked an eyebrow at me. "The sensible money's on it being haunted."

"Hmmn. So what's all  _this_  for?"

We were in a massive room - the old school hall, clearly. It even still had some of those big wooden honours boards on the walls, with the names of former pupils engraved in gold, a date fifty years in the past, and their exam qualification. The walls themselves had been freshly painted, and the whole hall was festooned with bunting, coloured lights, tinsel and all the trappings of an imminent shindig. A jazz band sat ready on a low stage, lamplit tables circled the room, and in the centre lay a polished dance floor.

-Which thronged with a hundred or more people, adults and teens, dressed up to the nines.

"It's the inaugural annual multi village ball," said Mrs Kettlesing. "It was supposed to be tomorrow, but the girl guides are having their bake-off then, so we had to shift it to tonight. That's why I rushed to bring you in. As London agents, you can get the job done and then we'll carry straight in afterwards." She beamed.

Quill and I stared at her.

"I promise we won't get in your way. We'll just be here, some nibbles, a few little drinkies, keep the music down while you work."

"Mrs Kettlesing," I said. "Outside are a dozen deadly ghosts looking for living humans. There are two agents here, as you see. And you've brought about a hundred potential victims to the very site of the haunting, at night." I paused. "Do you see a problem with this scenario?"

"Well," she said "I did wonder whether we should have a bigger range of soft drinks for the children."

Quill dragged me aside before I could grab our client and shake her. "Lucy. Calm down. We need to think."

"I'm already thinking. I'm thinking it's going to be carnage."

 _Mmn, can't wait,_  said a distinctive voice in my head. I couldn't see the ghost, but maybe he was wrapped around his skull, in my bag.

"We just need a plan," I said. I looked up at the display boards on the walls. "And I think I've already got one."

* * *

I faced the assembled children like a very young headmistress. "Ok everybody. Tonight you are agents. You're on my team, and you are my eyes and ears. You're to guard the adults in the hall, and holler out if you see a ghost. If a ghost comes near, you throw one of these salt bombs at it, as hard as you can. Clear?"

They nodded. You could tell that this was already a lot more fun than they'd been expecting at Mrs Kettlesing's soirée.

"Quill and I will draw the ghosts into a designated space and destroy them. Ok. Go."

The trooped off, chattering excitedly. Quill and I stood by the wall at the end, where the adults had been coralled in among the canapés with strict instructions not to wander off.

Quill said, "Designated space?"

"Just means I haven't thought of it yet. Listen. Do you see the names on that board behind Mrs Kettlesing?" He nodded. "Anything odd about them?'

"They're all names from one class...that's normal... Had their exams next to the names, nothing new there, even my old school used to do that..."

"Look again," I said. "That's not their qualification. That's a car registration number."

He peered at it. "A very old one, the letters aren't in that order these days."

"Yes. So...these ghosts..."

Quill frowned.

_This is painful._

"A whole class died in a car crash," I said. "And now they haunt the school."

"That's just weird," said Quill. "Who'd want to come back and hang round a load of classrooms?"

"I don't know," I said, "but it gives us a problem."

He waited.

"Their sources. They didn't die in the school, did they?"

Quill waggled his head. "Unless the bus ploughed into assembly one morning. Right through the wall into the pupils as they sat singing the school song."

_I like his thinking._

I hushed the skull as we made our way to the front lobby. "I think the source will be at the site of the crash. Where was that, though? Somewhere nearby."

"Oh no," said Quill. "Somewhere dangerous, where a car could easily come off a lethal bend and plunge to the valley below..."

"Exactly." I hefted my bag over my shoulder. "Oh. There you are."

The thin youth had materialised beside the school front door. T _hought I'd come out and watch._

"Well don't. If they see you they'll capture you."

_I'd like to see them try._

"Think of the humiliation, trapped by a bunch of school kids."

 _I could say the same to you._  He pointed.

The miniature ghosts were crowding around the front windows. "Right," I said. "Skull, you're the muscle. Clear us a path. Quill, I want you behind me, checking that they're following."

"Where are we going?"

I grinned. "Back to the car, to find the source."

He groaned.

 _Don't forget the sprite_ , said the ghost.

"I haven't. Something tells me the sprite is at the heart of this."


	3. Old-School

Between me, the skull and Quill we were quite a team. In the moonlit valley where Quill's car had stopped, Quill fended off the horde of child ghosts with a rapier in each hand while I darted about listening for their source. I'd heard something earlier when we were close to the broken down car - a soulful wail. Now I tried to make out words.

 

_Late for school...._

 

The sprite had gone straight for our car. Not us. It headed straight to the car and clung to it, stopping it.... As the driver of the school bus must have wished he'd been able to, years ago.

 

I climbed down to the stream while Quill flung flares at the ghosts. They weren't all here. Some seemed to have stayed behind, drawn to the school, or the living people partying within it.

 

The skull shouted helpful and unhelpful instructions. The moonlight was bright, but a possible source was nowhere to be seen. 

 

"Got any spares, Lucy?" called Quill. "It's getting lively up here."

 

"And they say that life in the country is at a slower pace." I tossed him a flare from my belt. He caught it one handed, and hurled it at the horde of shimmering ghost-kids. They advanced on him, their mouths opening and closing in unison, chanting silent taunts.

 

He cursed, and sliced at them with his rapier. "They also say that children should be seen and not heard, but I'm not feeling that, either."

 

The search was over when I tripped over the source -  the numberplate of the bus, lying under a large rock in the stream. I gave a cry of triumph and tried to get the numberplate out from under its rock. My boots were soaked, and the water was freezing.

 

Above me, Quill had been cornered by the two remaining ghosts.

 

"They're pretty keen, Lucy," he said. He flicked his sword at them and they swirled backwards, then flowed effortlessly at him again. He parried, stepping lightly aside to dodge their attack. Glancing up from my struggles with the rock, I had a glimpse of him as he must have once been - before he lost his psychic abilities and became a supervisor: Quill the agent, swift and sure and brave. He lunged at the nearest ghost and cut through its school tie. Ectoplasm sprayed his sweater. "Any suggestions?"

 

"Keep them busy while I try to get the number plate out of the rocks." I tugged at it. It was stuck like the sword in the stone.

 

"Any time you want to just throw a silver net over the whole bloody thing, will be fine."

 

"I am doing!" The wretched net wouldn't come out of its packet. I swore and grabbed another one off my belt. I cast  the net over the rusted old numberplate just as Quill sliced both ghosts' heads off in one crossed-swords motion which he must have seen on the telly. Either way, it worked.

 

The ghosts vanished and the psychic pressure in my head subsided to a low hum. I stumbled back and sat down heavily in the stream, getting a very wet bottom. "Ugh! Bloody hell!" I got up, dripping. 

 

_Bravo_ , said the skull. _Now you just need to get the sprite._

 

"I know."

 

I plucked my last flare from my belt and clambered back up to the road. Quill was there, ectoplasm in his hair. The little maroon car glowed.

 

"It worked," Quill said, breathing heavily. He pushed the goggles back on his head and gave me a dazzling grin. "Your plan worked."

 

"They don't hire us for nothing. You did well just now, by the way."

 

"You too." He wiped his brow on his sweater sleeve. The sweater itself, which had been a relatively pleasant grey colour to begin with, was now a ragged collection of magnesium burns and ectoplasm stains. I thought it suited Quill better than his old flashy outfits. "Can we go and collect our fee now please?"

 

"Not yet," I said, and shoved the flare into the car exhaust.

 

It made a really big bang. The moor echoed with it for what seemed like several minutes.

 

Quill stared at me, aghast. "My car!" 

 

I brushed ash out of my hair and slung my arm round his shoulder. "Don't worry. It's more economical to travel by train."

 

* * *

 

 

We began making our way back towards the old school. Its lights were still on, and music drifted faintly to us through the night air. It seemed that my makeshift team of nightwatch kids had done their job and kept the grownups alive.

 

I had the numberplate in a silver net. Tomorrow I would find the nearest government furnaces and dump it in.

 

The ghost followed me. _This is gruesome. You call me bloodthirtsy but look at you, preparing to murder an innocent spirit._

 

"It's not innocent. If you hadn't told us it was there it would have drained the life out of us while we looked for engine faults."  I glanced at him. He looked as bored as ever. "Why _do_ you keep saving us?"

 

_Not Kipps_ , said the ghost. _I'd leave him for the ghouls soon as look at him._

 

"Me, then. Why? You owe me nothing now. I probably owe you to be honest."

 

The ghost shrugged.

 

"Ok, don't tell me."

 

_I want to give you a chance to get cosy with Kipps so I can watch the snoodling_ , said the ghost.

 

"Very funny."

 

_It will be like a car crash - grotesque but compelling. I'll be desperate to tear my eyes from the horrid sight, but at the same time, unable to look away. I can only cover my ears against the whimpering and grunting._

 

"There will be no grunting, please shut up." I glanced at Quill, but he was walking a little way ahead of me.

 

_Sore point, is it? Or is that what you're hoping for afterwards!_

 

"You are revolting."

 

Quill turned back. "What's it saying?"

 

"That we're going to - Never mind. It's just winding me up."

 

_Small pleasures_ , said the ghost.

 

"Well, thanks for saving us. Again. I do want to repay you... I just don't know how."

 

_Just keep leaving my skull where it can see into the shower and I'll be happy._

 

"You do _not_ watch me in the shower-"

 

Quill raised an eybrow.

 

"Nothing," I said. The ghost chortled, and disappeared.

 

"How do you live with it?" Quill asked, as we approached the school doors. "Its constant... remarks."

 

"I ignore it most of the time. It's pretty quiet in the day now it's out of its jar. At night it yabbers on."

 

"What about sleeping? How do you stay safe?"

 

"I don't think it would hurt me."

 

"Maybe. I'd still have a massive iron circle round my bed if I were you."

 

I laughed. "Don't worry. I sleep in a solid iron bed like all sensible people. Got a couple of iron charms as well. But I'm not worried about the skull. If it wanted me dead it could have killed me a dozen times in the last few years. I think it likes me."

 

"That," said Quill, "is even more disturbing."

 

 

* * *

 

 

We were greeted like conquering heroes at the party.  Mrs Kettlesing paid me in cash - a satisfying big wad of notes - and pressed drinks and snacks upon us. The kids crowded around, admiring our battle scars. Then Mrs Kettlesing stepepd to the stage and tapped a microphone, in obvious preparation for a long speech about the inaugural annual multi village ball.

 

I took the opportunity to slip away, to wash my face and put on my spare skirt. It was hardly partywear, but at least it wasn't covered in the remains of ghosts. When I returned, Quill was in a clean shirt and his hair was damp. We weren't exactly glammed up, but overall we were presentable.

 

The speech ended. The village cookery club brought out more cakes. Everyone headed for the cake table,  leaving me and Quill by the champagne. Flutes of sparkling wine bubbled gentle on silver trays, ready for guests to snatch up between waltzes.

 

I leaned against the edge of the table, suddenly exhausted. The girl waiter came by holding a tray of sandwiches. I grabbed two, and stuffed my face.

 

"I guess you won't be getting that lift to see your folks," Quill said acidly.

 

"It was a terrible idea anyway."

 

"You'll be staying," said Mrs Kettlesing, passing by. "There's no buses at this hour and all the taxi drivers are here." She pointed at a bunch of middle age men propping up the bar. "The nearest car mechanic is in York," she added helpfully, and went on her way.

 

Quill groaned.

 

Suddenly I felt bad. "I'll pay for the damage to the car," I said.

 

He looked at me. "Will you?"

 

"Yes. I do know what it's like, to be struggling, on your own."

 

He bit his lip. I sighed. He hated his poverty-stricken life, and hated it more when anyone referred to it. As usual, my clumsy attempt at help had offended him even more.

 

But when I glanced back at him, he was only smiling at me. "What?"

 

"The car. The ghost kids. The crazy haunted school party." He spread his hands. "This is what we do."

 

"Yup."

 

"I missed this when I was a supervisor, a blind supervisor."

 

"Yup." I smiled at him.  "I think sometimes I forget that you used to be an agent. A good one."

 

"You know," he said, trying for modesty and failing. "I wasn't the best."

 

Of course we both knew who _the best_ might be. But we said nothing about it.

 

The band struck up a celebratory number. Kids and adults flocked to the dance floor, eager to show off their moves. Suddenly the room was awash with people in formalwear, shimmying to the music.

 

"Come on," said Quill. "We're obviously stuck here. I see more food over there,and the band is playing.  Let's join the party."

 

* * *

 

 

I'd not danced since leaving home, and those were country dances... nothing formal, and always someone to shout out the steps.

 

Here,  couples were clasping hands and waists and moving in time. This was old-school dancing. "Um," I said elegantly as Quill and I wove a path into the middle of the dance floor. "I'm not sure I know-"

 

Quill slipped his arm around my waist, splaying his fingers against my back. "I'm totally bluffing," he whispered as he took my hand, and I snorted with laughter.

 

We managed some semblance of purpose around the dance floor, giggling all the way. He was wearing nice aftershave. He didn't  step on my feet, though I couldn't say the same. He yelped but did not complain. A gentleman.

 

The music swerved suddenly and slowed, and we were  still in the middle of the floor, no way to slink off and avoid this obviously romantic number.

 

"Oh well," I said.

 

"Exactly. Make the most of it."

 

We hammed it up, clutching each other close and flinging our heads about in pretend tango-style passion. But then something strange was happening - my cheek rested on his, and his hold on me became tender rather than ironic.

 

I leaned away and looked at him. He looked warily back. I was going to say something, but then I changed my mind and put my cheek against his once more.

 

"Oh," he said, more of a gasp, and pulled me against him. 

 

He was strong, for all that he was slight. I liked that,  and I liked how he whispered, "Is this ok?" in my ear as we shuffled towards the end of the school hall.

 

"Yes," I whispered back. "It's nice."

 

Hardly the stuff of deathless prose, but my brain had gone a bit fuzzy and my fingers were in the soft hair at the back of his head.

 

"Oh god," he said, and kissed my neck.

 

We stopped dead, all pretence at dancing gone. We were in a dark bit of the room, which was just as well because I was hot all over and, I'm sure,  bright pink.

 

"Quill," I said. Then he kissed me, and I let him, and then I encouraged him, and then we stood clinging to each other and unashamedly snogging in a corner as the annual multi village celebration ball carried on around us.

 

At last we parted and stood, gasping a little.

 

I had not a clue what to say. Kissing him again seemed like a safer option, but he grabbed my hand and pulls me towards an empty space by the champagne table. 

 

"It's times like this I really wish I smoked,"  he said. He shrugged, grinned wryly at me. "I could stand and look cool and I wouldn't need to try to say anything."

 

"I know what you mean." 

 

I felt peculiar. After everything that happened between me and Lockwood, this felt like some kind of betrayal. But it wasn't that momentous. Someone kissed me, and that I liked it. That was all.

 

With Quill's arms round me I'd felt, somehow, comforted. There was nothing wrong with that. It was normal. It was just that normal was a bit of a departure, for me.

 

On impulse I plucked two champagne glasses from the table and handed one to Quill.

 

"Drink? That's not like you," he said.

 

"Says the person who had his face in my neck five minutes ago."

 

He winced. We drank.  He said, "I don't know what just happened. Honestly."

 

"I do. We danced, we kissed. It's ok, Quill, really. Happens all the time."

 

"Maybe to you."

 

"Hah. No." I was not about to admit how it basically never happened at all.

 

"So..." He hesitated. "What do you want to do?"

 

"Not have this painful conversation?"

 

"I mean -"

 

"I know what you mean. I don't know. Maybe we should just... Go with it, for now. Just... Have a nice evening." I shrugged.

 

"Right. Right then. More dancing."

 

I took his empty glass from him and put it with mine on the table. "More kissing,"  I said, and put my hands on his shoulders. We were the same height.

 

He wrapped his arms round me keenly enough. "Are you always so fierce?" 

 

"I don't know. Am I?"

 

"Yes. Terrifyingly so."

 

"Good to know."

 

From my bag under the table came a pale green glow. And a voice said, _I told you so._


	4. Tedious and insanitary

Quill dropped me back at my flat a day later. In the intervening hours, we'd disposed of the source of the school haunting, been interviewed for the local TV news - Quill excelled himself in front of the camera - and gradually recovered from sleeping in Mrs Kettlesing's musty spare bedrooms. I'd paid for Quill's car repairs; he'd driven us the scenic way home, through some beautiful landscapes. There had been, incidentally, a lot of kissing.

But now our little expedition was over. Quill switched off the engine and waited for me to get out. It was ten pm and the street was empty apart from us. The ghost lamps flickered on and off.

"Well," I said. I had my bag on my lap, with the skull in it. The ghost had been jabbering since sunset, mostly about the indignity of its skull being in a bag with my washing. "It's been nice." 

_If by nice you mean it's been unutterably tedious, not to mention insanitary, then yes._

I gave Quill a quick smile. He clutched the steering wheel and seems to gather his strength.  "Yes. Lucy... Do you, would you, fancy going for a coffee some time?"

Nobody invites anybody for coffee. Not unless it is a date. A date as in, we are now a couple. Going out. "Coffee," I say.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Just, you know, it's been nice. Really nice."

"All right."

"Great."

"Tomorrow," I say.

"Ok."

_Yes, drag out the torture, why not. Ugh. Watching you two is like seeing two snails at a milkshake drinking contest._

We agreed times and places in a rush, he kissed me with a new possessiveness, and then I climbed out of the car and walked up to my front door. I had a date. With Quill. What the hell was I doing?

But I thought of his smile as we said goodnight - a wary grin, and his eyes trying not to show how pleased he was. With me. Right now, I could do with a bit of appreciation. Or a lot.

A date. It would be nice.  I would wear my new coat.

_This is a terrible idea, Lucy. I mean, are you really planning on regularly locking lips with this chancer? At least with Lockwood it was only a bit of shy hand-holding -_

I swung round. The ghost of the thin youth was standing on my front path, slouching, hands in his pockets.

I pointed at him. "You know nothing about me and Lockwood. And you're not going to know anything more about me and Quill either. You needn't think I'm taking you with me tomorrow."

_Only because you know my conversation's better than his. You can't face the truth._

"And if you carry on like that I'll put you in a silver box first."

I turned my back on him and unlocked my door.

 _Fine_ , said the ghost.  _I was sick of talking about him anyway._  He followed me inside, not bothering with the stairs, but drifting vertically up the stairwell beside me.  _Now, onto more interesting matters. You look filthy. May I recommend a shower?_

* * *

 

in private Quill was such a different person. In public he was spiky, grumpy - swift and sure with his work but awkward with anything else. Yet at home, or in his car driving one-handed with his other hand on my knee, he became carefree and irrepressible. It was as if I had worked magic by kissing him. It was amazing to see, and it worried me.

"Quill. This may not last. A fling, all that."

We were on our way back from a job, in the car. As autumn drew in and the days grew shorter, we'd been able to start work earlier. It was still only just midnight.

"I know."

"I just don't want to get too..."

"Serious. I know. It's fine." He turned down a narrow street lined with terraced houses. "Listen, I live just up here. Dyou want to come in for a cuppa?"

I hesitated. So far we had been on a few dates, by definition in the daytime since nighttime was both deadly and also when we were at work. Most of these had ended by early evening, in the car outside my flat. "Um..."

They had also ended with the ghost pressing itself against the windscreen making kissy faces.

"Ok." And the skull would stay in my bag in the boot.

Quill's house was narrow and small, soot-blackened. It had a single lamp over the door like a hotel. A set of doorbells had different names on the labels.

He unlocked the front door and let me into the hallway. "We'd better keep it down," he whispered. "I don't want to wake -"

"Quill!"

A small foxy-faced woman in a dressing gown emerged from a doorway to our left.

"Mum. I said not to wait up."

"Had to, didn't I." She tied up the dressing gown and gazed pointedly at me.

Quill said, "This is Lucy."

Her eyes lit up.

"From work," he added firmly. "Lucy, this is my mum."

She came forward and shook my hand, beaming. "I know who you are, Miss Carlyle. Lovely to finally meet you."

Finally? I gave a faint smile.

"I'll make tea," said Quill, heading for the stairs.

"I didn't know you lived with your mum," I whispered as we passed one landing and ascended to the top of the house.

"Mmn," he said. "I tend not to mention it so as not have the Mickey taken every five minutes. This is me." He pushed open a door and flicked the light switch on.

It was an attic space, like my old room, done out in heavy paisley wallpaper in an attempt at sumptuous baroque style. And it was a bedroom.

I followed him in, my mind racing. I'd just been assuming, even after meeting his mum in the hall, that he had his own flat at the top of the house, or something. That he was about to show me into his lounge.

But no. There was a tiny sofa, a coffee table and a bookcase, a rack hung with an assortment of Quill clothes, and a double bed.

I was suddenly quite far out of my depth. "Um."

He shut the door behind us. Throwing down his door keys, he caught me around the waist and bent to kiss me.

"Quill," I said, "what are you doing? This is your bedroom."

"Yes," he said.

I fended him off, which is not as easy when you don't have your sword with you. "You don't make people a cup of tea in your bedroom," I said.

"Actually I do." He pointed. A kettle and small fridge stood by the wardrobe. He shrugged off his jacket. "How do you take it? Wait, of course I know. Sit down."

Some innate British politeness prevented me from sticking my hands on my hips and calling him out for bringing me, after work and one kiss - all right, about a thousand kisses - straight to his bedroom. I sat down.

He made tea and brought it to us, sat down beside me. The bed was behind us.

"I can't stay long," I said, reasserting myself.

He didn't reply.

We drank tea.

"Lucy," he said after a long while. "I only brought you up here for privacy. My mum's a light sleeper."

"Mmn."

"I wouldn't want you to think -"

"Well, maybe make tea in the kitchen, then."

"I know, I know." He touched my knee, sending a tremor through me. "Listen, I promise I didn't bring you up here to take you to bed."

He looked into my eyes as he said it and I had to tear my gaze away. "Good. Right. Exactly."

"Although, my god, the way you kissed me -"

My neck was flaming hot. "Yeah. About that -"

"I thought I was going to faint." He grinned, shook his head in disbelief. "Well, I won't forget tonight in a hurry. The poltergeist, and then the post-poltergeist celebration..."

I didn't trust myself to agree or disagree.

He stood, picked up our empty mugs, and took them to the tiny sink in the corner.

That was my chance to stand, stretch, wish him goodnight.

I didn't move.

He frowned, and stood hesitating. Came and sat back beside me.

"If you didn't bring me up here for that," I said, nodding towards the bed, "which by the way was never on the cards -"

"I know -"

"Then what for?"

"Tea," he said. "Honest. And, obviously, I was hoping that when we'd drunk it I might kiss you in the privacy of my own home."

My stomach did a little flip. "Ok," I said.

"If you wanted, if you haven't got to get back immediately, to the skull, or whatever - "

"Quill, I said ok."

"Oh." He gave a laugh of surprise and pleasure. Then straightaway he touched my cheek, slid his hand round the back of my neck and pulled me towards him.

After a long while, he said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but can we please move to the bed? I've got the arm of the sofa in the back of my neck."

We stood, clinging to each other, and shuffled to the bed. He tugged at me to sit down, lie down.

I wanted to, for sure, but also it is plain stupidity to get into, or onto, bed with a man without making things very clear. The skull's unpleasant warnings sounded in my mind. "Listen," I said.

"Lucy," he interrupted. "I like you far too much to ruin this by doing anything you don't want to do. Believe me I could cock this up in three seconds, but I'm trying really hard not to, for once in my life."

"Right. Good. Thank you."

"Honestly," he said. "I would never -"

I raised my eyebrows.

"Well," he said. "Not unless you wanted to." He gave an exaggerated wink.

"Quill!"

He laughed at my outrage, and kissed me again.

* * *

 

_Oh, you've had your cup of tea, then._

"Ugh. Too early for talking."

Grey dawn light edged over the rooftops. I was carrying my bag, and my daily newspaper, up the stairs to my flat. I couldn't see the ghost - it was too close to daylight - but I could hear it all right.

 _You spent the night at his house,_  said the ghost.  _And left me in the car._

I reached my front door and unlocked it carefully, so as not to wake my neighbours. When I got inside I said, "Well, you've made it very clear that you can't stand the sight of us together."

I put the skull in its usual place, and a faint glow slid away from it and into the darkest corner of the room. Even so, I could barely see him, but he was there - a boy with dark hair, narrowed eyes and an attitude problem.

_It may be repulsive, but it's the only entertainment I've got._

"Well, watch telly or something. I can leave it on for you."  I threw down the folded newspaper. "Or you could read."

The front page held a boxed article at the bottom. 'Top Teen-Run Agency Returning To UK: Nation Awaits Lockwood.'

I turned the paper over, kicked off my boots and yawned. Quill and I had slept, but sharing a bed is not as conducive to rest as you might think.

_Lucy..._

I paused in the act of pulling back the bedcovers. I was still fully clothed, but what the heck. Sleep called me with a powerful voice. "What?"

The ghost's whisper was barely audible. Daylight shimmered into my flat.  _Don't..._

"Don't what?"

_Lucy..._

And then he was gone.


	5. The trouble with honesty

 

December. All ideas of autumn were now firmly in the past. The London trees exposed their sorry, stunted skeletons, and it seemed to get dark by lunchtime. 

 

Quill and I were still seeing each other. I knew it wasn't a forever kind of deal. That suited me fine. I'd had one of those  once and it hadn't suited me, my independence. This was different. Purely...fun.

 

I said something about that to Quill, more than once. Every time, he said it was fine.

 

But was it? He was so affectionate. Tender with me in public, passionate in private. One afternoon he'd unlocked a keepsake box he had, to show me some old family photos. Underneath them in the box, I'd glimpsed a pile of newspaper clippings from his time as an agent. It all felt very personal and intimate. How could I reconcile that with the idea of a casual fling?

 

I couldn't, and I knew it, and every time he held my hand to his lips, I felt worse.

 

One afternoon, as we went for a stroll around the West End, I made up my mind to set things straight.

 

 

"Quill." 

 

We were watching workmen set up a winter ice rink in one of London's gloomy squares. Everything was grey and brown, but the rink was surrounded by floodlights. I supposed it was festive, if you thought that railway lighting was festive.  "We need to talk."

 

 

"Uh oh."

 

"I'm serious."

 

He shrank into himself then. "Are you dumping me?"

 

Was I? I hesitated.

 

"Well," he said lightly. "It's been fun." But his eyes were turning pink.

 

 

"Wait," I said. "I'm not. I'm just... I want to be cautious."

 

"I know I'm not him," he said. "I'm not under any illusions that I could ever live up to that."

 

"Oh Quill."

 

"I was just enjoying this time, being with you..."

 

"Me too." I caught his hand. 'I want to  carry on... I'm just worried... about myself. I feel... You're so nice. You deserve better."

 

"Still sounds like you're dumping me."

 

 

"I'm trying to be honest."

 

He grimaced, and watched the workers grappling plastic squares of faux ice into position. "Was this what it was like for you," he said, "when you dumped him?  You told him how it was going to be, and he sat there trying to do whatever you wanted but it still wasn't enough to keep you?"

 

 

His words struck me like a punch in the chest. I pulled my hand away. "It wasn't like that," I said.

 

"But he loved you more than you loved him, right?"

 

"It wasn't like that," I said again.

 

Silence for a minute or two. I twiddled with the hook on my rapier belt.

 

"So what do we do?" said Quill.  "Carry on and pretend you care for me?"

 

 

"I do -"

 

"Or split up and both be miserable and alone?"

 

"No -"

 

 

"I'm not sure even I can keep going knowing this is just an interim arrangement for you. Even I have some vestigial pride if I look hard enough."

 

He moved to walk away and suddenly I couldn't stand it. "Quill. Wait."

 

He shook my hand off but I launched myself at him and clung on. "Wait! This is exactly what happened with Lockwood!"

 

That stopped him. "What?"

 

Tears rolled down my cheeks but I just left them. Trying to clear up crying only makes it look worse. "This is what he said, this is what happened." I gulped but carried on. "He walked away because I couldn't promise him the unconditional love he gave me."

 

I Iet go of Quill. Now I'd said it, the fire had drained out of me. "I couldn't," I said. The words tore at my throat. "I can't. I can't promise to love him forever without changing. I can't know how I'll feel tomorrow or next week or next year, how can I promise that something will last forever? It feet dishonest, it feels like a lie to say yes I love you always, when how can anyone know that? It's not possible,  not for me, and he couldn't accept it, and he walked away."

 

I slumped. Quill stood frozen, mouth open, eyes goggling. "I thought you dumped him," he said.

 

 

I shook my head.

 

Quill ran his hands through his spiky ginger hair. "My god."

 

"He left me," I said. "That was what happened." I struggled to claw back to what we had been saying. Old heartache dragged at me, but this was here and now. "I don't, that's what I was saying, I don't want to... end something because I won't promise forever. There must be something in between."

 

 

At last I wiped my face on my sleeve.

 

"You've smeared your eyeliner," he said.

 

"Figures."

 

 

He drew a long breath and let it go slowly.

 

"Is there?" I said. My voice was returning. If he said no now, then at least I had tried, and I already knew how good I could be at surviving alone. "Something in between dumped, and promising forever?"

 

This time he didn't hesitate. "If there is, let's find out." He made a slight motion with his arms, and I flung myself on him again, this time to hug him and tell him, to my own surprise, that I loved him.

 

"Now you tell me," he said. He held me away, kissed me, laughed. "So what was all that about?"

 

 

"You're supposed to say you love me too." Now I'd said it, might as well go all in.

 

"No way, I'm too scared." But he gave me a squeeze.

 

"Should we... Go home," I said. "I mean, your place?" My place, obviously, had the skull.

 

 

"Ok."

 

We walked. Quill kept looking at me. He had his arm round me but I could feel the movement as he turned his head to me, and back.

 

I didn't ask. I knew him now, and knew he would tell me. I didn't have to prise it out of him.

 

"Honesty," he said. "It does get you into a lot of trouble."

 

 

"Yup."

 

"I feel I should be honest with you too."

 

"What d'you mean?"

 

"Well. The real reason I didn't go to South America."

 

 

Again he fell silent. Again I waited.

 

"It was because I knew you were staying. I knew Tony had ... I knew you'd broken up. I hoped you and I might work together. Maybe, be friends whatever." He winced at his own confession. "Pathetic, I know. Although I do also hate big insects."

 

"Me, and no bugs, how could you resist?"

 

"Not me, evidently." He paused. "And my house, I don't own that house."

 

"I know," I said."Your mum does."

 

"No. We rent it. Not even all of it. Those two rooms. Bedrooms. That's why... I took you straight up there. It wasn't to get you into bed. It's because there was nowhere else to go."

 

 

I absorbed this.

 

"You looked really shocked," he said. "I had to try to make it look like... Part of some plan. A romantic plan. Stupid, I know."

 

He'd been so sweet. "I thought I'd massively over-encouraged you," I said. "That this was what men assumed when girls kiss them."

 

"Well. It is. But not all of us take advantage of that assumption. I mean, not yet..."

 

 

"Easy, tiger."

 

He laughed, a light, carefree laugh. You would never have known the old Quill, to see him walking with me in the street, laughing and holding my hand. To casual acquaintance, he would have appeared unrecognisable.

 

Which is why it was a pity that the person coming round the corner towards us knew him,  and me, very well.

 

"Oh," I said.

 

Quill said, "Hello Lockwood."

 


	6. Night light

Lockwood was tanned from his travels, lean and glowing with adventures past. He wore a coat I'd  never seen before, pale grey, over his usual tight black suit. 

 

 

 

I was in my standard date wear, that was to say, my standard wear. Skirt, leggings, coat, and today, smudged makeup from my earlier crying fit. And, of course, I was holding hands with my new boyfriend.

 

Lockwood took in all this with one glance. He blinked, then his smooth professional face slid  into place. "Quill. Lucy."

 

"How are you, Tony?" said Quill. "I thought you were still away."

 

 

 

I clenched my fist, which must have hurt Quill's hand, but he gave no sign if it did.

 

"I was," said Lockwood. "Now I'm back." He was looking narrowly at me. "And you, Quill? You look well."

 

 

 

"Yes, pretty good thanks."

 

Lockwood hadn't taken his eyes off me. "How about you, Lucy? "

 

"Yes," I said.

 

 

 

"Excellent. Well, must get on." He gave a nod and strode away, coat tails flying.

 

It was another block and a half before I could speak. "Well. That saves telling him."

 

"Yes. Efficiency. Very good."

 

"Quill."

 

 

 

"Yes."

 

"Coffee before we... Go back to yours?'

 

 

 

He flung his arm round my shoulders in a tight half hug. "That would be a very good idea."

 

* * *

 

We sat in a steamed-up cafe on the route back to his place. It was packed with people cramming in an outing to town before the darkness arrived and the ghosts came out. Some people had their Christmas shopping with them. Me, I'd done none. I'm more of a last minute shopper, personally.

 

I paid for the frothy coffees. I still hadn't got round to making Quill an official employee. I just couldn't bring myself to take that step.

 

"Well," I said. "That's over with. I suppose we ought to try to bump into some of your exes now." I was assuming he had any. I didn't actually know. He'd never mentioned anybody, and despite my own reservations about our future, I'd been sort of hoping that I might be his first... serious girlfriend. I don't know why, it just seemed more romantic that way.

 

"My exes?"  Quill shuddered. "They were all mad. Flimsy as wisps and absolutely bonkers."

 

"Charming. Is this how you'll describe me one day?"

 

"You are in no way flimsy."

 

"Oh, nice save."

 

"Seriously, my exes are all... Crazy women."

 

"So what did you see in them?"

 

"Looks, mostly."

 

"Ah, another contrast with me. This just gets better."

 

He pointed his teaspoon at me. "I'm not taking the bait. But if you must know, then no, your looks are not what made me interested in you."

 

"Dangerous talk, Quill."

 

"It was your strength," he said. "Your ferocity. Your ability to drive through life with utter certainty."

 

I waved a hand. "A bluff."

 

"I don't think so. You can't bluff strength." He gave me a smile.

 

"Right. So aside from my muscles, I can be in no way compared to your previous girlriends. Right. Good." I nodded and stirred my coffee. Exes, he'd said. As if there were a load of them. Which logically meant...

 

"That's not what you're really asking at all, is it?" he said. His gaze challenged me.

 

"No," I said. "Not really. I guess I just... Wanted to know if you'd admit..." I had tied myself into another knot I didn't want to untangle in a cafe.

 

Quill took my empty mug and moved it aside. He wound his fingers through mine. "Not a virgin," he said. "If that's what you were actually asking."

 

I just turned pink with embarrassment and irritation at having been so easily discovered.

 

"Not an issue, either," he said. "It's not some... Great mystery you solve so you go forward with life armed with sacred knowledge."

 

"You sound like the skull."

 

"I strongly suggest you don't have this conversation with the skull."

 

I winced. "Too late."

 

"Ouch."

 

"You don't want to know." I thrust that memory aside. "I do worry a bit," I said. "About you being older. You know. I just.. worry about you.. comparing me ... about your past..."

 

Quill looked at me."Don't. I'm never going to let on what my old girlfriends were like. Any more than I want you to tell me what Lockwood was like in bed."

 

I flushed. "Um. Well. No, exactly." I was bright pink.

 

Realisation dawned in his eyes. "Oh. But...." I sat there wincing.  He ran his hand over his hair, shrugged.  At last he spoke. "Every person is a new start," he  said softly. "Regardless of where you're starting from."

 

I blinked at him. Whatever I'd expected him to say, this wasn't it. 

 

He kissed my fingers. "I don't expect," he said.

 

"I know." He had my knuckles against his lips. "Did you really not know?" I said. "About me?"

 

"No. It's not like it changes how you look! And like I said. You're fierce. Fierce kissing." He held my hand against his neck. He was warm, and his eyes were bright. "Turns out I really, really like fierce kissing."

 

"Oh god," I said. "Come on. Home."

 

 

* * *

 

 

I timed my arrival for when I judged everyone would be up, and I brought cakes. I hadn't been to Lockwood's house  - and my own former home - in Portland Row for over a year, and it was very strange to be standing on the front door step.

 

Lockwood himself opened the door. His sharp, eager face still held a faint tinge of foreign sunshine, he wore a dark suit I recognised, and his hair was damp as if he'd just come from the shower. "Lucy."

 

"Hello, Lockwood."

 

He stood holding the door with one hand.

 

"Can I come in?" I proffered the box of cakes. "I just wanted to say hello to everyone."

 

"Oh. Of course..." He stepped back and let me past.

 

I brought the cakes into the kitchen, where a traditional Lockwood and Co breakfast was taking place. 

 

George, in grey sweatpants and some kind of Aztec themed jumper, left a pan of sizzling eggs to greet me. "Luce! Its been ages." He hugged me, and I kissed his cheek. It really had been ages. I'd missed him a lot. 

 

"Did you find anything interesting?" I asked.

 

"Oh my word yes. But it's a bit hush hush at present." He tapped the side of his nose. "Can't say too much yet."

 

"Ok."

 

Holly got up from her chair and hugged me too. "Oh Lucy. Argentina was incredible. And Brazil, you wouldn't believe...."

 

"Don't tell me," I said. "Big insects." I hugged her back. "It's good to see you."

 

Lockwood placed a cup of coffee on the table in front of me. "Yes, good of you to pop round. I can't stay and chat, I'm afraid - got rather a lot on. Thanks for the cake." He flashed me a polite smile and disappeared down the stairs into the basement which held  his office and the rapier practice area.

 

Everyone stared at the closing basement door, then at me.

 

"Actually," I said. "I sort of need to have a quick word with Lockwood, so..."

 

You've never seen a kitchen empty so quickly. By the time my hand was on the basement door, the place was deserted.

 

He was at his desk, ignoring a cup of coffee.  He looked up as I came in.

 

"Hi," I said. I perched on the edge of my old desk.

 

He made a gesture towards the files littering his desk. "Like I said, I'm a bit busy."

 

"I just wanted to come and say hello."

 

"Right. Well, you know, hello." He gazed at me, blinked, glanced away.

 

"What's the matter?"

 

"Nothing. It's nice to see you."

 

"You too. "

 

Silence.

 

When we spoke it was at the same time. I said, "I just wanted to make sure you were ok with -"

 

Lockwood said, "How could you just let me find out about it like that -"

 

We both stopped.

 

"Well," I said. "It's not like we were still together."

 

"Weren't we?" he said, and shoved his chair back and stood up.

 

"You were in bloody Brazil so I think not!"

 

"So, what, did you wait until I'd left the building to hitch up with Kipps?" Lockwood laughed viciously.  "Or did you leave it until I was at least over the horizon?"

 

"You left," I said. " _You left!_ "

 

"And you've taken up with someone else! What would you say if I told you I'd shacked up with Holly while we were away?"

 

"Holly? I'd be very surprised indeed. And that is not the point because we were not _together_ -"

 

The skull had told me that going  to see Lockwood would be a bad idea. 

 

"So, what, is this purely a surface fling with Quill, the way you wished it had been with me, though I was unable to oblige -"

 

"Because you were obsessed with forever! We were sixteen, Lockwood!"

 

"I was seventeen. But now obviously at _eighteen_ you're able to look to the future and really start working your way through your colleagues -"

 

George stuck his head round the corner. "Is Lucy staying  for -"

 

"No," said Lockwood furiously, "she isn't."

 

I glared at him.

 

George disappeared with a muttered, "Whoa."

 

I stuck my hands on my hips and said, "Now listen to me -"

 

It was scary how often the skull turned out to be right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Five o'clock. Full darkness outside. I sat on my bed eating a pot noodle and watching an inane _Haunted Happenings_ on the telly with the volume switched off. The participants were all adults, most of whom had been barely psychic to start with, and they sat round on sofas discussing ghosts and the Other Side as if they knew all about it.

 

I couldn't bear the half-baked speculation, but some of the haunted footage was all right. Up to instant noodle standard, anyway.

 

_How was Lockwood?_

 

The ghost materialised at the end of my bed, a respectful distance from its iron frame.

 

"How would I know?"

 

_Because you've been to see him. I can tell by your hangdog air and the low-rent choice of television._

The ghost swam around to stand beside me. _Yes, the telltale mooning and sighing, the unwashed hair, the nutrition-free dinner - all the hallmarks of an encounter with the boy wonder._

 

"Fine," I said. "I went to see them. Everybody. And it would have been fine if Lockwood hadn't been acting like such a -"

 

_Ooh, I know this one, it's one of those words you used to fling round the flat after he went off to the southern hemisphere. Let me see, is it -_

"Ugh, shut up."

 

The ghost was silent for a while. He stood scowling, his stance clenched and stiff,  his spectral form shifting slightly to and fro, like all ghosts.

 

I switched off the TV and shoved the empty noodle pot under my bed. I lay back to relax, but even my pillows were battered out of shape.

 

After a while the ghost said, _I suppose he was less than impressed with the idea of you and lover boy._

 

"You could say that."

 

The ghost shimmied to stand in my line of sight. _Lockwood's a fool. He must have realised you'd move on. It's been... How long has it been?_

"A year. A bit more, actually."

 

_Well there you are. What did he think you were going to do, sit around moping while he swanned off having supernatural adventures with the gang? You're a woman with options, Lucy._

 

I perked up. "I suppose you're right."

 

_You know I am. Lockwood was never your only choice. He's just too obsessed with the idea of eternity to realise that not everybody dreams of a big white wedding._

"Yes! Exactly."

 

_And take it from me, eternity's overrated._

"Why can't people live in the here and now?" I said. "Seize the moment, enjoy it for what it is?"

 

The ghost wafted to and fro. For once, he didn't look bored.

 

"When life can be so short," I said, "when you're doing the most dangerous job in the world and you don't even know if you'll live to see tomorrow, it's crazy not to grab every chance you have at happiness. You can't think about forever. You've got to _take_ your happiness, here and now."

 

I heaved a huge sigh. It was early, yet I was exhausted. I wriggled out of my leggings and began hunting in the rubble of my bed for some pyjamas.

 

_Better?_ said the ghost.

 

"Yes. Thanks, skull. Er, could you move over there a bit? I can't see my - got them, thanks."

 

_I am not a night light._

 

"You sort of are." I grinned at him, anticipating his usual rude gesture in return.

 

But instead, for the first time, he simply grinned back.

 


	7. An eyeful

The envelopes came separately, of course, to my place and Quill's. They contained invitations to the event of the season, the presentation of Anthony Lockwood with a medal for greatly assisting the nation in the solution of the Problem, the ghost problem. The wording hinted at revelations from his agency's South American travels, and fresh news about progress with ending the Problem once and for all.

"That's us out of a job then," said Quill. It was late afternoon, and we were in the dim linoleum halls of the newspaper archive, trying to find details about the previous occupants of a hotel in the East End. Our client had been very vague about what his nigthwatch kids had seen, and the guests involved had all checked out pronto. Well, they'd all checked out except the ones who'd died.

"By the time every ghost is gone, we'll be fifty." I studied the card. "This is Holly's handwriting for our names. It will be nice to see her again. And George."

Lockwood had obviously realised that it was stupid for us to keep fighting. Times had changed, things were different. I was glad. He'd been so angry...

"Are we going, then?" Quill asked.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Because it's a massive party in honour of my girlfriend's ex boyfriend who, the one time he met us, was so cold my eyebrows nearly froze off. For a start." Quill pushed aside his pile of newspapers.

"It's fine. I think he was just surprised. Come on, look at it." I pointed to the address. The event was to be held in the Savoy Hotel ballroom. Gilt lettering promised champagne and canapes; small black type advised black tie, carriages at twelve. "We can't not go to this. Besides, if we don't he'll read something into it, or other people will, and then it's worse."

"So I should attend because otherwise my girlfriend's ex boyfriend might infer hidden meaning from my actions?"

"Stop saying girlfriend's ex boyfriend! No, we go because we've been invited. And we can see our friends again, and it will be fun." I tapped the next pile of papers to look through, and with a groan, he pulled them towards him.

"I suppose I could dig out my tuxedo. "

"There you are, then."

"Are we, ah, going together? Appearing as a couple? "

"Why not? It's not like it's a secret. Lockwood knows, he'll have told the others, it's no big deal. We can share taxis."

"I was hoping you'd say that. I'm broke."

I suddenly found something fascinating to inspect in my newspaper. I really ought to bring Quill into my business properly. Why hadn't I done it? We worked together most days, we shared a bed, albeit in a fairly innocent way, most nights. So why not?

But I hadn't done it. I said, "This hotel job will be a nice fat fee if we can work out what on earth the ghost actually is."

"We should go and scope it out," he said.

I shook my head. "Not yet. I want a full idea of all the possibilities before I go through those doors."

He pressed his mouth closed.

"What?" I said.

"You and Lockwood would have gone straight in."

He was right. "That was different. Lockwood -" Lockwood and I had worked as a seamless unit in dangerous situations. I always knew what he was going to do next - and vice versa. Well, apart from that time he poked me in the eye with his boot because he hadn't said he was going to suddenly come back down the ladder, having found a Limbless at the top. "Lockwood has the best Sight of anyone I've ever known," I said. "Even with the goggles, you know you can't see everything. And my Sight is not my best talent."

Quill made a face.

"You're good," I said. "But I can't put us in danger. Especially now." I covered his hand with mine. It felt good, to be protecting him.

_Get a room!_

I gave the bag under the table a nudge with my toe. "Shush!"

_I can't believe you're still hanging out with this loser._

I ignored the skull, but made a face at my bag where its skull was tucked away.

 _You need to ditch him and start hanging where the real action is._ This was followed by a characteristic dirty laugh.

"I am _not_ opening the bag to see what you're doing."

_No need, I'm right behind you._

I swung round to see the ghost of the thin youth, hanging in mid air between the book stacks. He wasn't making an obscene gesture for once, just standing there, hands in pockets, watching us.

"Quill," I said, "put your goggles on."

Quill swore, and snatched them up. "Oh, great."

 _Yeah, love you too._ And _there_ was the gesture, but directed at Quill, who slowly lifted his rapier and made an equally obscene gesture back.

"If somebody sees you," I said to the ghost, "I am not going to stop them hitting you with magnesium flares."

_Won't hurt me. My source is safe in your bag._

"My bag? Whose bag? Oh no officer, that's not _my_ bag..." I pressed my hand to my bosom in an attitude of helpless femininity.

_You wouldn't. You'd miss me too much. So where's this haunting then? Are we going tonight?_

"No. We don't know enough about it yet."

_Tomorrow?_

"We have a prior engagement," I said smugly. "We'll do the hotel the day after."

_What prior engagement? More slurping on Kipps' face?_

"I'm not telling you. "

_Definitely the slurping then._

"It is _not._ And actually," I said, looking at my watch, "it's getting late. I need to go dress shopping."

The ghost and Quill gave identical shoulder-slumps.

I grinned. "Who's coming with me then?"

* * *

The dress was black, made of rich velvet, with a cowl neckline and a hem that ended above the knees. It clung in what appeared to be the right places, and skimmed over the rest. It wasn't bad, and it was black. I was in my comfort zone, colour-wise.

Quill opened the taxi door for me to climb in.

It was night time - a tribute to the work done by Lockwood and Co, that there could be an evening event in midwinter. People were safer out at night now, than at any time since the Problem began.

I lowered myself gingerly onto the taxi seat and crossed my legs. The silver high-heeled shoes made even doing that difficult. So did the rapier. I had lashed out and purchased what the sales assistant called a Society Rapier Attachment, apparently all the rage for agents attending formal events. It was basically a leather belt with a lot more silver buckle than usual, but it did look good with the dress. Even if the dress had a tendency to ride up when I sat down.

"Wow," said Quill as I attempted not to give the taxi driver an eyeful. " You look stunning."

"Thanks. You too."

He wore a dark grey suit, not a tuxedo. Bow tie and silver cufflinks. Shiny black shoes. The suit had a thread of silver running through it, an echo of the flashy-dressing Kipps of the old days.

I had been having doubts about this event all day. "We should probably be discreet. I mean. It's nice of him to invite us. Probably best not..."

"Rub it in his face. Yes. That's all right, I can keep my hands off you for one evening."

"Can you?"

"Apparently not..."

In the rear view mirror, the taxi driver rolled his eyes.

* * *

The Savoy was lit up for Christmas, and draped in banners for Lockwood. Taxis and limousines crowded the front entrance, and men, women and teenage agents in gowns and tuxedos climbed out and were greeted by hotel staff holding trays of drinks.

Quill and I entered and, as agreed, split up. Quill knew some old agency chums of his would be there, and he went off to find them. I found Inspector Montagu Barnes, our old ally from DEPRAC, looking most uncomfortable in a tuxedo and enormous bow tie. He gurgled in shock, possibly horror, when he saw me in the dress. We exchanged words, and he kept involuntarily glancing at my legs the whole time.

I found Holly and George. Holly wore a long purple sheath dress, high-necked and elegant. Her hair gleamed. George had come in a midnight blue velvet dinner jacket and looked very smart. Our relic-hunting friend Flo had declined the invitation. "Not her thing," said George. He looked a bit wistful. I tried to imagine Flo in evening wear, and failed.

Lockwood was hardly visible, pulled from admiring throng to admiring throng all night. I only glimpsed him, resplendent in a black dinner jacket with a scarlet lining, and bow tie. His tan had faded, and I thought he looked tired. But then, weren't we all? Winter is ghost happy-time. They come out for longer, and seem to have all their most inventive ideas, in winter.

I would go and speak to him, I thought. Congratulate him. He had been generous enough to invite me and Quill. I ought to be grownup about it too. So what if he and I had once been together? I loved him too much as a friend, even now, to hold a grudge.

I began to work my way through the crowds toward Lockwood, but everyone wanted to congratulate the great man, and I never even got into the same room as him, except for the medal ceremony itself. For that, everyone thronged to the massive ballroom, and from a great distance was able to observe Lockwood on the stage, many dignitaries, and a very shiny gold medal.

Champagne was passed out by waiters, ahead of the toasts. I couldn't see Quill, but Holly was nearby. She and I took two glasses each and got a bit giggly. There were a lot of toasts and speeches, and speeches are always funnier with bubbles going up your nose.

At last, with a fanfare from the band, the medal was presented.

Lockwood accepted it modestly, thanked his whole team, and smiled at the crowd. Cameras flashed.  Lockwood stood smiling for the Press, and was given congratulatory kisses by about a dozen girls on the stage. He bore it, wincing.

Quill found me, and George appeared too. We swapped tales of our adventures, at home and abroad. It was good to see everyone after so long.

Then the music started. "You dancing?" said Holly to me. "I think I might." Several men had been eyeing her hopefully as we stood chatting. She, however, had kept her gaze firmly on the room at large, favouring nobody.

"Oh, for sure," I said. "Come on, Quill." I took his hand and led him into the throng. Grinning, he clasped me around the waist.

We twirled around the room, pressing close to each other, laughing at the splendour of the setting and in sheer relief at being together after a whole evening of sensible behaviour. As the music wound down and we made our way off the dance floor, he looked at me too sweetly to resist. I kissed him lightly on the mouth, and his arms clutched me tighter.

Over his shoulder, I saw Holly and George, standing by the peanuts, gaping at us.


	8. Wild

I let go of Quill. George and Holly stood speechless.

"Hi " I said.

Holly recovered first. George just goggled like a goldfish. "I didn't realise you two were together," she said calmly, but I could see the shock in her eyes.

Why was it so hard for people to take? It had been a year since Lockwood and I were a thing. A _year_. "Ah... yes. A few weeks now." Quill gave a weak smile.

"I... If I'd known," she said. "Wait. Did Lockwood know?"

"Of course. Didn't he tell you?"

She and George exchanged glances.

"Well, this explains it," said George.

"I'm _so_ thick," said Holly. "No wonder he didn't - never mind."

"What?" I said.

George said, "He's been very weird since we got back. Since you came to see him."

"You went to see him?" said Quill.

"I went to see everybody," I said.

"Ended up having quite the shouting match with Lockwood," said George.

"We did not! He was shouting."

"It was mostly you," said Holly.

I said, 'So he didn't invite us? You did?" Oh god. This was bad.

"I thought he'd... forgotten. Actually, I thought it would be a good chance for you two to..." She was blushing. "...Make up."

"Hah. No chance of that now I know he didn't even want me here."

"Lucy," said Quill.

"Well fine. I'm leaving. I'm sorry I even wanted to come."

"Lucy."

"I am with Quill now. If Lockwood can't accept that he should just butt out. Just because I found someone who doesn't constantly try to exact ridiculous promises -"

Quill's face took on a strange expression.

George grabbed my arm. "Shut up now Lucy."

From behind me Lockwood said, "No, do go on, it's quite fascinating. Apart from my surprise at seeing you here, I'm learning loads. You were just saying how I am too mean-spirited to wish you happiness with someone else, even when the main reason for being with him is how different he is from me."

I swung round.

There he was, medal pinned to his suit, his hair slicked back and his collar buttoned up very tight.

And of course he had seen and heard it all.

"You look lovely, by the way," said Lockwood. He nodded at Quill. "Quill. George, it's you I want, can you come and -"

"No problem." George let go my arm, and with a stricken look hustled after Lockwood.

"This does seem like a good time to leave," said Quill. He still looked strange.

"I'm going too," Holly said. "Maybe we can share a taxi."

It took me a moment to twig that Quill was moving to the door without me. "Hang on."

I stammered as he paused. Words would not come. Everything started with my stupid assumptions, my stupid tactlessness, and my general stupidity about how I managed to hurt people that I cared about.

Thank God, Quill took pity on me. He came back, draped his arm round me and said, "Come on, taxi time."

By the time we were all in a cab, things felt more normal.

"God that was awful," I said. "I'm so sorry. Holly, I never meant to put you in that position."

"I know."

"I'm sorry about what I said about Lockwood too. I know he's your friend."

"Not yours?" Her dark eyes were so sad I couldn't look at her.

"It seems not. We can't even meet without having a massive row." I kicked at my stupid heels.

Holly looked embarrassed.

"I should have told you I was going round there," I said to Quill. "I just wanted to clear the air before we all saw each other again. I thought - Oh, I don't know what I thought. I was wrong, whatever it was."

"You don't need to explain to me," he said.

I took hold of his hand. I didn't even care that Holly was right there. "Please," I said. "What's the matter? What the hell have I done now to wreck things?"

Holly tried to look out of the window.

"Nothing," said Quill. He squeezed my hand. 'We'll talk about it when we get back. I mean, assuming we're going back...?"

"Yes please."

Quill's place was nearest. I gave Holly money for the fare, and a kiss for being angelically tactful throughout. "How will you get home," she said, "will you be all right?"

Quill melted into the background.

"Ah," I said. "Probably stay over, you know how it is." I waved a hand in an attempt at worldliness.

Her eyes widened. "Oh. Right. Ok then. Um, bye."

The taxi roared away, and Quill found his key. "Subtly done,' he said. "I thought we might hang out a banner, but you went with just shoving it in her face. Nice."

"Ah! I cannot do anything right tonight!"

"Calm down. If she's shocked by you staying over at mine, she clearly wasn't paying much attention to our dancing."

* * *

He made us tea, and we sat on his little sofa, sipping. I gradually sank into a tired kind of calm.

"I'm not ready for sleep," said Quill. "Even though it's late. Fancy some music?"

He turned on the radio. An old jazz tune came on, an aching rhythm that spoke of smoky dance halls and underground bars and illegal liquor. I stood up and caught hold of him, pulled him into my arms. We stood swaying to the music. There was no room for proper dancing, but it didn't matter.

"God, what an evening," I said into his neck. "I'm sorry about Lockwood."

"I don't think it was his fault." He gave a long sigh. "Lucy... "

"I know I should have told you," I said. "That I went round there."

"No," he said. "That's just it. There's nothing between you and him, why would you mention it?"

I said nothing. He made a perfectly good point.

The music changed, another old song, a woman crooning about an unobtainable man. We danced, or at least shuffled, and I let Quill's closeness, his warmth, soothe me into tranquillity. With my lips against his neck, things seemed much better. Quill stroked my hair, and pressed his other hand into the small of my back.

"Hang on." I wriggled free, and undid his top shirt button. "Better. I kept getting collar points in my eye."

"Inconvenient."

"Extremely."

A new tune started, a big orchestra and a slow melody. I pressed my mouth to Quill's neck and rested there, held in his arms. "You make me feel so normal," I said.

"Sounds boring."

"Boring is good. I get sick of being a girl with a skull and a terrible habit of upsetting people."

"Mmn. "His hands were on my back, sliding up and down on the velvet.

"You make me feel ..."

I never finished that sentence, because he unzipped the top of my dress and eased it down a little and kissed my bare shoulder.

My dress spilled over his hands as he repeated the kisses on the other side, and then along my collarbone. Every touch was like a tremor than ran from my heart to my belly. At last he kissed me on the lips, a lingering kiss, looking into my eyes.

"You make me feel wild," he said. "All this - " He ran his hand over my back - "Oh god."

"Come to bed," I said.


	9. Sweet talk

Quill whispered, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Was I? No, of course not. But after tonight, and everything, I couldn't think what else to do, to draw a line under the situation, to move on. I was my own woman. I had options. Quill was definitely one of them.

"I do love you," I said. "I mean. In my way."

"It's all right,' he said. "Not everything has to be about forever."

If there has ever been a more perfect example of someone saying the right thing at the right time, I don't know what it is. "Yes," I said.

"In which case I am the luckiest man alive right now." He caressed my bare shoulder with a blissful mixture of eagerness and restraint.

Well, this was it. "I love you," I said firmly, and kissed him.

* * *

"Are you awake?" I thought I'd heard a sound from him, but perhaps I'd imagined it. A soft, familiar voice whispering my name...

"Yes," said Quill. "You?"

"Yes." I shifted around. He seemed very... Near.

"Sorry, are you uncomfortable?"

"No, I'm fine." I shuffled under the covers. My watch was on the floor with my sword and, incidentally, my clothes. I guessed it was three or four o'clock in the morning.

"I can make us a drink -"

"No, no thanks, it's fine -"

_Aren't we polite?_

I jumped, arms flailing, and swiped Quill on the nose. He swore, and we both sat up straight. I clutched the covers. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The skull stood in spirit form by the window.

"Quill," I said, "please tell me your bed is iron."

"It is, but you're scaring me."

"The skull's here. And it sounds a bit... Jealous," I whispered.

 _What's that? More inane promises to loverboy? Step aside, matey, I'll show Lucy a good time_. The ghost held out its hands to me.

"Whilst killing me in the process. No thanks. Go away, please. How did you even find me!"

 _So you_ have _been hiding from me. Thought so. You had the reek of deception about you._

"I did not! Do not. I'm not hiding. I just thought you would be..."

 _With my source yes, but that's not quite how we Type Threes work._ The ghost inspected a fingernail.

Wasn't it? That was worrying. I would have to tell Lockwood, first thing. The skull was in my flat. The ghost was here. Was this simply a midwinter thing? Had something given the ghost extra strength, to be on a longer tether?

I gathered my thoughts. "Well, look, since I don't really welcome company when I'm half naked -"

_Only half, my timing is way off._

"Keep your ogling eyes to yourself." I hauled the sheet up to my neck.

_It's nothing I haven't seen before. Remember a shower curtain is as nothing to one composed merely of the soul's essence._

"And naturally you would use those powers for voyeurism."

_What else is there in life? Or death?_

"Privacy, maybe?"

 _Overrated. Share and share alike, I say. I'll show you mine -_ He made a terrifying gesture towards his trousers.

"No! Just get out! If you want to spy on somebody, pick someone who isn't trying to recover from a horrible evening.'

_All right, I will._

It vanished.

"That is seriously creepy," said Quill.

The ghost reappeared. _Sorry, but everyone we know has had a horrible evening. Holly can't forgive herself for inviting you secretly, George had to leave when there was still cake left, Lockwood's drinking a vicious amount of champagne, and Quill's had his amorous intentions interrupted by a handsome spirit._

Quill saw his name on the ghost's lips. "Leave me out of it. My evening's been fine."

 _Not any more_ , said the thin youth, and swooped towards him.

In an instant my rapier was between them. Damn the sheets, damn privacy. I carved a purposeful pattern around the ghost. "Cut that out right now. Quill's my boyfriend, I love him and you will not harm him. Or any of my friends. Got it?" I was trembling. This ghost was the most powerful I'd ever encountered. I couldn't really stop it, and we all knew it.

 _Charming_ , said the ghost, withdrawing to stand moodily by the window. _Save a person's life and what do you get, chop chop chop, begone, foul spirit, I banish thee. Hardly a hero's welcome._

"Argh. You know I'm grateful. But... please... right now I just need to sleep." It had come to this. Appealing to the ghost's better nature was my only defence. And given I wasn't sure it had one, I didn't feel too confident. Beside me, Quill leaned over the edge of the bed for his own sword.

The ghost shrank away from me. His ghost mouth twisted. _You're no fun now you've got a pet._

I sighed, sat up straight and lowered the sword. If I wanted it to go away I would have to sweet-talk it. In a terms-and-conditions monotone I said, "Right. Listen. You are definitely my favourite undead friend. I'm sorry I've been out so much without you lately. I've missed you. Let's hang out tomorrow night."

I waited.

 _Needy or what?_ said the ghost. Pointing at Quill he added, _Watch out matey, she's a clinger._ Then it vanished.

"Bloody hell." I collapsed back against the pillows.

"Is it always like that?" Quill lowered his rapier, then hung it over the bedstead. With wary glances towards where I'd been addressing the ghost, he eased back between the sheets.

"No, usually it's worse. It did actually seem lonely."

"You're never feeling guilty."

"Only a bit."

"Oh my god. How do I find them, these crazy women?" He wrapped his arms around me.

I shrugged him off. I felt peculiar. Peculiar about the ghost appearing and seeing me in bed with Quill, obviously, but also... Peculiar about being in bed with Quill.

I scrabbled on the floor for my clothes. Well, for Quill's clothes, since a velvet evening gown is not something you can just throw on.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm wide awake." I slipped into his shirt. "I'll make us a drink."

I took my time over it, watching for the ghost all the while. It did not appear. I promised it, silently, that I would keep it company next day. And I thought I might call on Holly as well.

I had a horrible feeling I'd done something stupid.

I brought the drinks to bed, eventually, by which time Quill had fallen asleep. I drank my tea, and his, watching him. None of this was his fault. He had actually been fine with a casual fling... and so had I... but Lockwood was obviously really upset over it, and I hadn't even realised, and now Quill and I had done this thing, and it seemed that we were more involved than ever.

An hour passed before I got back into bed, and another before I finally went to sleep.


	10. Late night caller

We got up late the next day. Well, I did. Quill could barely move. I left him, bleary-eyed and silent with fatigue, drinking a cup of tea, and went home to get changed. It was peculiar strolling through London, mid-morning, in evening gown and rapier, but hey. It's not like I'd ever worn an agent's uniform.

Holly had left me a note. _Hope you got home safe. If you need to talk I'm here._

That was sweet. Maybe talking would be good. I did have some things I wanted to ask her about, some rather delicate things I'd not want to discuss with the skull.

I picked the skull off the windowsill. "Hey, buddy. "

No reply. Well, it was daytime. He'd be back later, doubtless wanting to know the gory details of my night with Quill. Which I was definitely not going to supply.

I showered and changed, and checked my answer phone for messages about work. There were a couple of jobs on, plus the hotel one tonight.

There was one silent message, or rather, a message which started with a masculine cough and then ended.

Wrong number or prank call. It had been left in the wee small hours of the morning. Cheeky beggar. It was just as well I was at Quill's: I would not have appreciated being woken up. Although -

I replayed the message. The tiny tape whirred, and there was the cough again. Oh. I knew who _that_ was.

I thought of the ghost's summary of the evening after Quill and I left. _Vicious amounts of champagne._ Oh dear. Had I really had a late night drunken phone call from Lockwood?

I shook my head and deleted the message. Whatever he'd been going to say, he hadn't said it. And I hadn't been there, anyway.

I looked around the flat. Quill was coming over later. I'd better start tidying.

* * *

Quill and I met in late afternoon, and caught a taxi to the East End. It dropped us off a street away from the hotel. In the fading light, I wanted to get the lie of the land, including scoping out escape routes in case our initial reconnaissance went badly wrong. The skull was in my bag, and I was expecting the ghost to show up any moment.

Quill still looked knackered. The effect I had on men, clearly. Opposite the hotel was a small square, its grass flattened by winter cold, its paths still slimy with the remains of fallen leaves. As we walked across it, I gave Quill a smile. The previous night seemed like a dream, and it was all right to be here, the week before Christmas, with a boyfriend and a nice juicy haunting to fix. "I know we're working, but not even a kiss hello?"

He took my arm, a strange, old-fashioned gesture. I laughed, and went with it. Why not?

"Well, look at us, walking out," said Quill.

"Walking out?" I laughed. "Yes, that's us, going steady, courting."

He shrugged.

"Still tired?"

"After the debacle of last night? I could sleep for a week." He scowled.

"You're embittered today, something up?" I slipped my arm around his waist.

He twitched. "No. Arms now, right, yes, arms."

I let go of him. "Quill. What's wrong?" How had I bungled things this time?

"Nothing."

I touched his arm. "Well, that's obviously not true. Come on. Tell me."

He shrugged.

I sighed. "Fine. Don't tell me. But remember, whatever it is, I want to help."

"That's what you do," he said. He frowned. "You help. Try to, anyway. You want to help and you go and try."

"Um. Yes. I guess." What the hell was up with him? We honestly had not drunk that much champagne.

He was staring at me with an odd, dark intensity. It was as if he'd never seen me before.

"Starting to freak me out here, Quill."

"Mmn." He opened his mouth to say a reflexive sorry - I saw it clearly - but nothing came out. Instead he leaned in, very warily, and kissed me on the cheek. For a second I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

"Oh Quill." I hugged him. A tremor ran through his whole body, a weird judder as if my hug was repulsive, or something. I stepped away. "Come on. Things to do, ghosts to vanquish."

I let go of him and walked on. After a moment he followed, caught up and walked beside me, casting uncertain sideways glances all the while.


	11. Are you there

The hotel job took a while, but was straightforward in the end. Or rather, it was straightforward, right up until the end.

 

Twin brothers, middle-aged men, had died in a gas leak in the original hotel building, a hundred years before. Now their twin ghosts roamed the upper floors, tormenting everyone who had hoped _not_ to choke to death in their sleep.

 

There was an interesting twist. The men had died in a mezzanine floor which no longer existed, meaning they floated along with their bodies visible from either just the waist up, in the floor, or the waist down, legs dangling from he ceiling. It was rather disconcerting.

 

Quill and I dodged them up and down corridors in the musty old hotel, and searched for their source with no luck.

 

 

I asked the skull for help, but it gave no answer. There was no sign of its familiar green glow,  or the ghost of the youth. 

 

It must still be sulking,  which was annoying, because at times like this it was truly useful.

 

Eventually I stopped in an upstairs corridor, held the identical plump ghosts at bay - protruding from the carpet in front of me - and questioned them about their deaths.

 

I had cast an iron circle behind me, ready to step into should the ghosts attack, but to hear them clearly, I needed to be out of it. "Get inside," I said to Quill, who had his goggles on.

 

 

"I'm ok."

 

"Don't be stupid." I have no time for niceties at work. "Get in, Quill."

 

I quizzed the twins and among their repetitive ramblings, caught something about a gas pipe. "Ah! Of course..."

 

The ghosts, sensing my momentary distraction, surged forward.

 

I jumped into the circle, pulling Quill in with me. He swore.

 

 

"I got it,"  I said. "The source is the gas pipe that killed them. But where is it?"

 

"No idea." He handed me salt bombs, and I lobbed them at the ghosts and tried to think what I knew about gas plumbing. Not a lot, was my conclusion.

 

It was Quill who found the source. After we left the circle to begin the search again, he had a blast of inspiration and led me straight to the stairs between the two current hotel floors. There was a length of thick, flat old cable that vanished into a tiny cupboard, the door of which was painted shut. "This was on the demolished mezzanine," he said."It's all that's left. Bet the source is in there. Either that or a dangerously leaky gas pipe. Let's find out!"

 

 

"Give me the wrench."

 

Quill said, "I'll do it." He took the wrench in his hands and with great relish  bashed the little door in.

 

"Aha!" I started taking out a silver net. There it was - an old stopcock wheel, disconnected, lying in this forgotten old service cupboard.

 

"Lucy,"  said Quill, "forgot to mention, they're back."

 

I swung round. The pudgy figures of the two spirits loomed close to Quill, perilously close - 

 

I raised my rapier and sliced at the nearest one. "I've got this. You do the net."

 

I tossed him the net, and he dropped it. "For god's sake! Here." I passed him another net. "Hurry up,  it's two against one." 

 

 

"Right."

 

I advanced down the stairs towards the ghosts, creating a pattern of entrapment with my rapier, a complicated shape in the air which Lockwood had taught me, and he and I had spent hours practising, our swords in perfect unison in the basement at Portland Row.

 

The twins recoiled from the metal, then swirled back at me. They seemed stronger, and I realised in irritation that they were feeding off my nostalgic emotions. "Dammit. Where are you with the net, Quill?"

 

 

I forced the ghosts down the stairs a little way.

 

"Can't get the net out," he said behind me.

 

"For pity's sake! Ok, swap places."

 

 

"No, I've got it." But when I glanced round, he stood there holding it, not throwing it over the source, not doing anything useful at all.

 

A ghost swiped at me, and I cut through it, splattering ectoplasm. "For god's sake!"

 

As they advanced,  I climbed backwards uo the steps, slicing and whirling with the rapier in one hand, my other retrieving a silver net and, without looking, shaking it free of its packet. The twins were nearer, dodging my blade, reaching out eagerly to touch me. I arrived at the level of the little cupboard,  whirled and flung the net over the stopcock, and the ghosts dissolved and vanished.

 

I slumped down and sat on the steps. "What the hell was that, Quill? They almost got me, where were you?"

 

He looked horrified. He flung his net away. "I couldn't," he said, and then he doubled over and threw up, all the way down the stairs.

 

 

* * *

 

"I'm going to stop putting two scoops in the coffee," I said later that night. "Calm down!"

 

I had emerged from a much-needed shower, to find Quill bouncing around my flat. "I've never seen in here before," he said, opening  random cupboards and gazing at the contents. "So this is what's on top of the wardrobe!"

 

 

"You're being very weird..."

 

"Am I? Sometimes it's just so good to be alive, you know?"

 

He bounded over and patted my arm.

 

"Are you staying?" I asked. He never usually stayed at mine - my bed was up against a wall, so was not easy to get in and out of with two of you. And, honestly, I could use a break. I had some thinking to do, and I had promised the skull I would talk to it. Not that it had said a dicky bird all night.

 

"Maybe,  maybe." He was still dancing about, touching stuff.

 

 

"If you're not staying, you'd better get going." I opened my bag. "Where's the skull?"

 

"The what?"

 

"The skull. It was in my bag." I rummaged, first quickly, then thoroughly. Then I upended the bag and picked through every item. But the skull was gone.

 

I clutched at my head. "Oh god, where is it?"

 

Quill came to look. "Maybe it's good riddance?"

 

 

"No! If I've lost the source... I've lost the ghost. It must be here."

 

I tore through the flat, searching.

 

"Leave it," said Quill. "It'll turn up."

 

"I can't. If I've lost it I don't know what I'll do."Alternating between fury  and despair, I raked through my possessions.

 

At last Quill said, "I _am_ staying."

 

 

"Ok." But you know what it's like when you've lost something - you can't stop looking.

 

At last I forced myself to put on pyjamas and get into bed. "Are you joining me then?"

 

I hadn't meant it to sound snarky, but luckily, Quill was so wired he didn't notice.

 

 

"I'm not tired," he said like a toddler who's been told to go upstairs. "I'm wide awake!"

 

"Well, you sit up then, read a book. I need to sleep."

 

"All right."

 

I lay there while at the table, he turned page after page in my casebook. I kept still, and thought about nothing for as long as I could manage. And then I thought about Lockwood.

 

 

Why had he rung me in the middle of the night? 

 

I'd forgotten to call him and say about the ghost and its seeming ability to roam. Bother. And now the skull was missing.

 

I had to speak to him. Not just about that. We used to be such friends. More than friends, obviously. We had been in love.

 

I turned my face away from Quill's and closed my eyes.

 

Memory came unbidden.The times Lockwood and I had staggered back triumphant from a night battling ghosts. We would tumble, battered and ragged, into Portland Row for tea and toast,  and then, still laughing, climb the stairs to his immaculate bedroom... The way we kissed, as if the world was ending around us. How we sprawled on his bed, looking into each other's eyes, watching all the love and wonder there, amazed that it was ours. 

 

-Lockwood's deft fingers, unfastening my necklace. He ran his thumb along my cheek, then kissed me as if I was the most precious thing he'd ever known.

 

-Lockwood in shirt sleeves, lounging but alert as I trailed my hand over his chest. Me, taking his hand and kissing his fingertips while our bare feet twined together. Me, shy to do it but murmuring his first name...  His hand on my waist, sliding up, and the way his gaze flickered as his palm traced a path over my ribs.

 

 

I squeezed my eyes tight shut. We had been so young. We were right to take things slow, not to rush into anything we might regret. My god. How mature you are, at sixteen.

 

Damn, damn, damn.

 

I couldn't have these thoughts with Quill six feet away. I took a long breath,  and made myself think of nothing again, and finally fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

I was woken, some time later, by Quill crawling into bed beside me. He was undressed, or rather, in pyjamas, and he was positioning himself on the very edge of the bed.

 

"You can budge up," I said, flinging my arm over him. "There's room."

 

 

He squeaked as I pulled him against me.  With his back to me, he lay rigid and awkward. "Night then."

 

"Night..." I kissed the back of his neck and lay down. It was ok. I didn't have to try to solve my boyfriend problem, or more accurately, my Lockwood problem, right now.  Quill was here, and seemed recovered from his bizarre evening.

 

 

I drifted for a bit, enjoying the simple fact of his warmth next to me.

 

_I'm in her bed, with her._

 

 

I opened my eyes. "Quill?"

 

Nothing. He was asleep. His mouth twitched. 

 

Well, that was weird. Then I remembered the lost skull. Had it spoken, and woken me? "Skull,' I whispered. "Are you there?'

 

 

No reply. Quill murmured, turned towards me. In the flickering half light of the ghost lamps outside, he almost seemed to glow.

 

I sighed, without being able to explain why, and went back to sleep.


	12. On the line

"Hi."

 

The telephone  line from my flat to Portland Row was perfectly clear, so clear that I could hear George in the kitchen, saying, "...It can't last." I could hear Holly's neat little work shoes clip clopping  past the telephone in the hallway. And I could hear Lockwood's indrawn breath as he recognised my voice.

 

"Hullo." He sounded as if someone had poked him with a stick to make him talk. Resentful and sore.

 

"It's work," I said quickly. "I need to talk to you about the skull."

 

"Right. Go ahead."

 

No invitation to come round and go through things with a cup of tea and a biscuit. But then, what did I expect? I clenched the phone in my fist. "I've lost it."

 

"You've what?"

 

"Lost it. The skull."

 

"What?"

 

"I had it in my bag. Now it's gone. I don't know where it is."

 

"I- "

 

"What else is there to say?' I cried. "I have looked for it, Lockwood. Believe me,  I've looked. But it's gone, all right." I paused.

 

He said mildly, "All right, it's gone. Noted. What about the ghost?"

 

"Gone too."

 

"It _left_ you?"

 

"Yes. And Lockwood, there's another thing." I told him about the roaming ghost.

 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "That's disturbing. When was this?"

 

"The night of your medal."

 

"Where was the skull?"

 

"My flat."

 

"Ok, where were you?"

 

I heard him realise, at the same moment that I did: Lockwood rang me that night, and knew I wasn't at home. Of course I'd been at Quill's house. So now I would have to confess it to him, the last person who wanted to hear it and the last person I wanted to hurt with that knowledge. I closed my eyes.  "Quill's," I said, because I had to. "I saw the ghost there. It came looking for me."

 

Silence. Then, "Right."

 

"That's not just it though, Lockwood," I went on quickly. "It seemed to go and spy on all of you. Came back and told us, me, what you were all doing."

 

"Never mind that. Your place, not far from Quill's, yes?"

 

"A mile or so," I said.

 

"Hmn." His voice trailed off in thought. "Possibly just a midwinter thing. They have more power in the dark months."

 

"That's what I thought, but the spying thing, how could it go to find Holly, or you and George? You were all on the other side of town!"

 

"I think it was probably just lying," he said. "Manipulating your emotions." He snorted. "It's a ghost. That's what they do."

 

"I don't know," I said. "It knew things..."

 

I could imagine his eye roll. "Such as what? I bet it was making up any old rubbish to get your attention. What did it claim I was doing?"

 

"Getting drunk."

 

"Right."

 

Silence again.

 

In the kitchen, George murmured something that made Holly laugh.

 

Lockwood said, "I think it was just saying whatever it took to make you notice. We know it loves attention. And you're its favourite thing." He made this sound disgusting. I supposed it was.

 

I said, "Lockwood, did you call me that night? What did you want?"

 

"It hardly matters."

 

He didn't deny calling.

 

I said, "I'm sorry-"

 

"Let me know if the ghost turns up," said Lockwood. "It's dangerous, and I'm particularly worried that it seems to have abandoned you, after all this time. George always thought you were its anchor, kind of its connection to the living world. He thought you held it in check, from committing the vile acts it always threatened us with. Without you, well, who knows what it might do?"

 

"I don't know if it was ever that bad-"

 

Lockwood cut across me. "We don't know _anything_ about it because it's never even told us its name." He made an exasperated noise. "Well, it's gone. And we can't have it fall into the wrong hands. I'll put the word out among Flo and the other relic men that we need to find that skull. Offer an unofficial reward, that should do it."

 

"Ok -"

 

I had been going to thank him, but he said a crisp, "Goodbye," and the line went dead. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. The wandering boyfriend

I was going to have to break up with Quill. But how? You cannot dump someone when they clearly need help.

Quill had been very peculiar the past few days. After his spate of hyperactivity, he'd disappeared for two days, just gone, then, when he startled me by appearing on my doorstep, gave no explanation.

"Why are you just hanging about outside?" It was raining.

"I forgot I couldn't go straight in," he said.

Was that some kind of hint about giving him a key to my flat? If so, I was ignoring it. I gave spare keys to nobody. "Where have you been?"

"London. All over London. You wouldn't have thought it possible to cram so many idiots into one city but believe me they've tried. The aquarium was good, though. All those creatures, trapped behind glass." He barked a laugh.

"The aquarium? Isn't that really expensive?"

His face took on a shifty look. "Probably, I wouldn't know."

"You sneaked in?" All this, and we hadn't been in the flat two minutes.

I came in, looked automatically for the skull, remembered it was gone, and put the kettle on.

Quill sat down at my kitchen table - actually my only table, since kitchen, lounge and bedroom were all the same space - and complained bitterly about his feet hurting.

When I looked, the soles of his shoes had completely worn through. His socks and bare feet, showed through. "You're bleeding! Have you... just walked everywhere?"

"I've got no stamina," he said. "Weak as a kitten." Then he stretched out in the chair, lay his head back and flaked out, snoring.

What the hell was going on?

On top of this I felt worse and worse about the night of the ceremony. It was a relief, in a way, that Quill's odd behaviour prevented us seeing much of each other. I was not at all keen to spend the night with him.

But in this state, he couldn't be dumped. He clearly needed help. And it was hardly good form to ditch someone straight after the other business, either.

I missed the skull. When I said this to Quill, he was weird about that, too. "Of course you do." He smiled fondly at me, and darted across the room to kiss my cheek. "Lucy," he said, taking my hands and feeling each of my fingers in turn. "My Lucy."

I forced a smile. It was clear: I couldn't split up with him at the moment.

* * *

It was later that same night, when against my better judgement I had let Quill stay at mine, that understanding came.

Quill was in bed, in pyjamas, and as usual, was being strange about it. He lay flat on his back like a corpse in a coffin, smiling at the ceiling.

I climbed in beside him. "I'm pretty tired," I announced. "I'm just going to get some rest..." I wasn't going to  _apologise_  for offering no shenanigans, but it was awkward now. Expectations had been set.

Still, even in his peculiar mood, I'd thought Quill would play up the disappointment, and make some pseudo-gallant remarks about there being time in the morning, or something. We been together a couple of months. He'd never passed up the opportunity to spend time wrapped round me.

But he just said, "All right, suit yourself."

That lessened my guilt. I leaned over and said a brusque goodnight, then for form's sake, kissed him on the lips.

He grabbed me and held me, arms locked, his mouth frozen against mine.

I wriggled free. "Quill! What are you -"

He had never kissed me liked that before - snatched, awkward, fumbling. It wasn't Quill's style. It was the kiss of a desperate teenage boy, whose eagerness is only matched by his utter terror.

And then my stomach churned, and my heart began pounding in my chest. I looked at the empty windowsill, and remembered the ghost of the thin youth, and I knew.


	14. Getting the band back together

Two days before Christmas. The sky was still black, at half past five on this damp, bitter morning. The pavement outside Portland Row gleamed with frost.

 

I didn't want to be here. This was an awkward place for me, my old home, which still felt like home. The situation was definitely awkward. My old... boyfriend, though that term seemed inadequate for what Lockwood had been to me.

 

It was also an awkward time. They might still be out on a job, or more likely, they'd not long be back and would not welcome me showing up disturbing their well-earned sleep. All the same, I rang the doorbell and waited.

 

George opened the door. He wore pyjama bottoms only, exposing a horrifying amount of chest. There were hairs. I flinched. He said, "Oh. Lucy."

 

"Can I come in? I need to talk to Lockwood. I need help."

 

He blinked at me from behind his glasses. I saw him take in my nerves, my unwashed hair, the general state of me. "Good grief, Luce, what's up?"

 

He ushered me into the kitchen and bellowed for the others. Holly, sleepy in a big jumper, came in and gave me a startled smile. They must have all got back from a  job and crashed out at Portland Row. I was glad to see her. I could use a bit of her serene competence right now.

 

Flo stumbled in too, and gave me a brusque nod. She was wearing just the top half of George's pyjamas.

 

"Morning," I said, somewhat faintly. She had fantastic legs, surprisingly, but I was not quite ready to see them by the first light of dawn.

 

"Who the bloody hell is that coming round at this hour?"

 

Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Lockwood burst in. "Oh. Hello."

 

He was unshaven and had shadows under his eyes. He wore his least favourite dressing gown, and dull brown pyjama bottoms. Through the gap in the dressing gown, his chest shone palely.  His feet were bare.

 

"I need your help," I said.

 

He pulled the dressing gown tightly around him. "Right."

 

I looked at the kettle.

 

"Right. Cup of tea. Yes. George, would you ..."

 

"Bloody hell, I'll do it if it helps her get to the point," said Flo.

 

I hadn't meant to, but suddenly I needed to sit. "I'll just -"

 

I wobbled, and George and Lockwood caught me between them. They lowered me into a chair and George patted me on the back.

 

"What's wrong?" Lockwood said, more gently. George placed a mug of hot tea in my hands. "Why are you here so early? It's still dark out. God, it's not even six am."

 

"So he doesn't know I've gone. I can't stay long."

 

Now I had their attention.

 

They waited. I drew a deep breath. "It's Quill. I think he's possessed."

 

Everyone started. Lockwood's hand wrapped around my shoulder. "That's pretty bad," he said.

 

"It's worse than that," I said. "I know who's possessed him."

 

"Well, obviously a ghost," said George. "Possession! We've never had one of those."

 

"Not any ghost," I said. The warmth of Lockwood's hand on my shoulder gave me the strength to force out the confession. "It's him," I said. "My ghost."

 

* * *

 

A short time later we were gathered in the library. Lockwood, still in his dressing gown but now fired with brimming energy, flipped pages in a book on exorcism. "All of this involves the church," he said.

 

I sat on the sofa with Holly. "I don't think the skull will be impressed with that," I said. "In life he meddled with the occult. I hardly think excommunication is going to bother him."

 

"I agree." Lockwood tossed the book aside. "George, what else have we got?"

 

"I'm still looking..." George, now mercifully in a hoodie as well as his pyjama bottoms, balanced on a step ladder, hunting through Lockwood's parents' collection.

 

Holly said, "But how did this all happen? When?"

 

I said,"Some time after... That night at the medal ceremony. I saw the ghost then. He turned up when he was least wanted, as usual. Threatened Quill."

 

"What interests me," said George, "is why now? You three have been working together for ages. What's changed, what does it want?"

 

Everyone's eyes swivelled to me. Lockwood's gaze was dark. I said, "I think he, the ghost... It was jealous."

 

"That's nothing new," said Holly. "It always got very agitated if it felt we were leaving it out."

 

"He tried to kiss me."

 

Everyone recoiled - except Lockwood, who went still. Inexplicable guilt rippled through me and I shook it off. I was sorry his feelings were hurt, but for once, this was not my fault.

 

"How could you tell?" George asked curiously. "I mean -"

 

I said, "I just knew."

 

Lockwood stood up and paced around the room.

 

I said, "The day after the ceremony, Quill and I went out on the job that night. and he was worse than useless.  Wouldn't get into the iron circle. Didn't want to contain the source." Holly winced. I sighed. "Since then... he's been very clingy,  but won't sit right next to me. It's like he's nervous all the time."

 

"The ghost," breathed George. "He's just a kid."

 

At last. Someone who understood. "Exactly. He wants - me to be his girlfriend, but he has no idea how to go about it. It's horrible. He's been all ... creepy and mad."

 

"Must have hoped you wouldn't notice," said Lockwood. He was thumbing pages in a book.

 

"Lockwood!" said Holly.

 

"I _did_ notice," I said to nobody in particular.

 

Lockwood said, "Flo, any word on the skull?" She shook her head. 

 

I said, "I think Quill took it. I mean, the ghost took it. So I couldn't contain his source."

 

Lockwood flung himself into his usual armchair and sat drumming his fingers on its arms. "That gives us a problem." 

 

"How do you think it got in?" asked George to me. He was consulting another book. "Might be relevant."

 

"Ugh," said Holly.

 

"I think it crept in while we were asleep," I said. 

 

Lockwood's expression flickered. He didn't comment.

 

"All right," said George,  setting down the book he'd been scanning. "Got it. For secular removal of secular ghosts... which I think we can all agree this one is ... There's only really one method." He climbed down, and stood leaning against Flo's chair.

 

"Makes life easy," said Lockwood. "Let's hear it."

 

"You won't like it." George looked at me.

 

"Well, I don't like the alternative much either," I said.

 

"Ok. Basically, to force the spirit out of the body, you have to... kill the body."

 

* * *

 

My jaw dropped. "Kill him. That's hardly a solution!"

 

"Not completely kill him, obviously. Just enough to make the spirit uncomfortable. Then we find the source, contain it ...  I've got a silver jar ... and hey presto."  He gazed expectantly at me.

 

"I can't kill Quill," I said.

 

"Don't worry," said Flo. "We'll do it for you."

 

Nobody laughed.

 

"Where's Quill now?" Lockwood asked.

 

"My place. Asleep."  

 

"Right."

 

It was clearly going to be my day for revealing more about my private life than anybody wanted to hear. But then privacy had become a bit of a fluid concept lately, what with the skull's endless nosiness, and now this. I chewed on my lip. I admitted that my relationship with the ghost had been dubious. Trying to slightly kill Quill was insane. 

 

Lockwood sighed. He got up and came to stand by my end of the sofa. "We'll do it, Lucy," he said. "We'll find a way to get rid of the spirit. And we won't let Quill die, I promise."

 

I looked up at him. Weariness crept over me,  looking at his narrow, handsome face, hearing his impossible words. "Don't say that. Nobody knows what's going to happen. You can't _promise_ to keep him safe."

 

He flinched, then blinked it away. "No," he said softly. "But I can promise to try."

 

"We all will," said Holly. 

 

"He's one of us," said George. "And so are you."

 

I got a bit tearful. "Thank you."

 

"We'll need to work quickly," said George. "Being possessed is highly debilitating to the host body." 

 

I said, "It will kill him, won't it - if we don't get it out?" George nodded. "Oh god." 

 

"The key thing," said George, "is not to let the spirit know you're onto it. If it feels threatened, it might lash out."

 

"Oh god." I put my hands over my face. "It's strong. It could do anything."

 

George said, "And as we know, It's got a very wide and grisly repertoire. Murder, grave robbing..."

 

"We'll sort it," said Holly. "Won't we, Lockwood?"

 

"Of course." Frowning, he looked so much like his old self that my heart turned over. He touched my shoulder. "What about you, Luce? Are you ok? He, it, hasn't... tried to hurt you?"

 

I shook my head. I didn't trust myself to speak.

 

"Lockwood, George," said Holly. "Make more tea."

 

"What?"

 

She stared meaningfully at them and gradually they understood and left. Flo looked from Holly to me, and went too.

 

Holly moved up to sit beside me. "Lucy," she said. "Talk to me frankly. Did the ghost make you do anything ... that you regret, that you didn't want to do?" 

 

"No," I said.

 

"You can tell me. I won't tell the others. But if you need to get it off your chest..."

 

"I'm all right." Well, I wasn't, but in this case it was nothing to do with the ghost.

 

"You're ok though. Physically." Her dark eyes brimmed with concern.

 

"Ugh. Yes."

 

"Ghosts can hurt you," she said. "Supernatural sex is -"

 

"Oh my god Holly please stop."

 

"Sorry."

 

"I feel horrible enough as it is. I've put Quill in terrible danger." 

 

She took my hand. "Lucy. I have to ask. For the case. Since the day you think the ghost took over... Did you two -"

 

"No!"

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"What kind of question is that?"

 

She squeezed my hand. "Sorry. I just thought... You were staying over..."

 

The hurt and misery that I had been carrying around for days burst free.  "Oh god, I've been so stupid, things just went way too far after that horrible night, when Lockwood saw us together, and then I didn't know what else to do-" I was making no sense, but Holly just put her arms round me and held me.   "I can't undo it and I know Lockwood _knows_ and Quill is so nice and he never put pressure on me to do anything, it was all me and now I can't even dump him because he's possessed-"

 

By the time Lockwood backed into the library with a tea tray, I was properly sobbing. 

 

He backed straight out again.

 

Holly held me and stroked my hair and let me cry. And when some tiny part of my dignity eventually returned, she said, "Quill sounds nice."

 

"He is. But - " How to explain that it was not a forever thing, and probably not a thing that would last beyond Christmas, but still a thing that I did not want to end with a gruesome murder?

 

Lockwood stuck his head round the door. "It's seven. You need to go, Lucy."

 

"Ok."

 

He approached, holding my coat. "Shall I call you a cab?"

 

"No. I'll walk. Do me good."

 

"Ok."

 

He held out the coat, and I shimmied into it. "We'll sort it out," he said. He reached to straighten my collar and then stopped. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

 

I felt his warmth, standing close to me like this. "Thanks."  I turned to Holly. "You can tell the others anything you need to. If it's relevant to the case."

 

She nodded.

 

"I'm not exactly in a position to carp about privacy, or pride." I gave them all a weak smile and headed for the door.

 

Lockwood followed me into the hall. We stood, with me not opening the door, him not saying goodbye.

 

At last I met his gaze. I said, "I really appreciate this. Especially-"

 

"Don't worry."

 

I shook my head. "No, dammit, let me finish. Especially after I was so rude to you. I'm sorry. For all of it. None of it was Quill's fault," I added. "I was able to cock this up perfectly well on my own."

 

Lockwood pressed his mouth tight shut. His eyes held caution, and sorrow.

 

I reached out and touched his arm. "After this, let's be ... Nicer to each other. I mean I will be. It wasn't you -"

 

"Agreed," he interrupted. "Nicer to each other. Now go, or Quill will wake up and the ghost will know you're not there."

 

He gave a swift smile, the briefest flash of his old charm. "Right," I said, and tried for a smile of my own. "Goodbye."

 

His eyes gleamed. "I'll see you later."


	15. No doubt

 

My flat, an hour later. It was daylight, just, and after the clear cold night, it was going to be a sunny day. Quill was up, and dressed, and fidgeting with all my stuff. "Where've you been?"

 

I produced a bag of warm croissants. 

 

"Aha!" He pounced on them. "I'm starving. I think I might have a tapeworm. Are you not having one?"

 

I shook my head.

 

"That's not like you." He nudged me in my admittedly generous ribs.

 

Act normal at all costs. "I have to confess," I said. "I sneaked one on the way in."

 

"Ha! I know you too well," he said, and there was the skull's voice in my head again. I looked at the bag of croissants and nearly retched.

 

"I, er, need to be alone for a bit," I said. "Time of month, women's problems, you know."

 

I could see that the skull would not have cared one way or another, but also that it knew that Quill would care.

 

How did it keep its deceptions straight in its head?

 

Not my problem. "Sorry to kick you out," I said. "Look, I'll pop round to yours later, ok?"

 

Quill stood by the window. "Sounds like you're avoiding me. Chucking me out like a snot filled tissue."

 

He sounded so much like the skull, but out loud,  that I quaked. "No! I said I'd come round later, if you like."

 

Then sunlight streamed in through the window. For a while, the room was dazzling, and there was the real Quill, sleepy and sweet and holding out his arms to me. "Yes, I like," he said, as I submitted to a hug. "I feel like I haven't seen you for ages. Dunno how that works, seeing as we've been here all along!" He smoothed down my hair. "I'm a lucky man." 

 

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Not that lucky. I come with a lot of baggage, most of it lethal."

 

"It can't be worse than my other girlfriends."

 

"Ha! I mean no. I don't know." I drew back from him. "See you later, ok?"

 

The sunlight faded, and Quill's eyes darkened. 

 

"No doubt about that," said the skull.

 

* * *

 

Dusk. I found the rendezvous, a little cafe a few streets from Quill's house. It was a late-night place, yellow lights glaring through steamy windows and a steady procession of night watch kids trooping in and out.

 

Most of the others were already there. Flo sat, in her revolting puffer jacket, with the empty sugar bowl beside her drink. George was beside her in front of a plate of shiny buns. As I approached their table, I saw Flo's hand wrap around George's knee, or rather, his thigh. I blinked. George seemed oblivious.

 

"Hey Lucy." Holly stood up and gave me a hug. "How are you doing?"

 

They were all in full mission gear: thick coats, heavy boots, hats, gloves, rapiers. As a non-agent, Flo wore hers under her jacket. George had a large bag with him, which I presumed held a jar for the skull, if we could find it. 

 

"I'm fine. Where's Lockwood?"

 

Holly said, "On his way. He was meeting -"

 

George interrupted, "He had an errand to run." He gave Holly a look as if to tell her to shut up.

 

I said, "There he is."

 

He stood in the doorway, coat tails swirling in the wind, his rapier gleaming under the fluorescent light. His suit was freshly pressed, his hair artfully tousled and his chin ruthlessly clean-shaven. He looked cool and in control, at ease leading his team into battle. My heart ached for what I'd asked him to do, and for how he just did it, no complaints, nothing but fierce dedication to the task, and care for our safety. I waved, and he saw me, and came across the room.

 

At the counter, I paid for hot chocolates for both of us. Up close, Lockwood looked tired,  but his eyes were bright. "You ok?" I said.

 

"Yeah. Been in the basement all day. Good to be out at last." He flashed me a smile. "Has George told you the plan?"

 

"We were waiting for you. -Lockwood, I need to tell you something." It was hardly the moment, in a noisy, glaring cafe with the others sitting ten feet away, but it was my last chance. This could be the last night of Quill's life, and it was not the sort of thing you could say afterwards, because afterwards, nobody would want to hear it.

 

Lockwood scooped up both mugs. "The others are waiting. We can talk later."

 

"I just -"

 

He swept away to sit at the table, and I had no choice but to follow. I took deep breaths and tried to be calm.

 

"You ok?" said Holly. 

 

"I'm ok."

 

She placed a paper bag on the table. In it stood a bottle of wine. "If Quill drinks this, it will slow his reflexes." 

 

Lockwood was discussing something with George in a low voice. George was speaking, and Lockwood was nodding and murmuring sober agreement. But all the time, over George's head, Lockwood was looking at me, and I looked back at him.

 

"Ok," Holly said. Lockwood and George stopped muttering and everyone sat up straight. George took another bun.

 

"Right," said Lockwood. "The plan. It's simple, as all the best plans are. George goes to Quill's house, popping in for a chat, they talk, it gets late and Quill's drunk all the wine, falls asleep and George pours this little lot down his throat."

 

"Pure silver essence," said George, holding up a tiny corked bottle. "Harmless to humans - goes straight through you - but very uncomfortable for a ghost. It should make the spirit leave Kipps' body."

 

"Then we find the source, trap it in a jar, job done." Lockwood glanced around the table. "Questions?"

 

"Yes," I said. I looked at George. "What are you going to chat about? Every time you see Quill you just take the Mickey."

 

"We're not close," admitted George.

 

"You almost called him an idiot to his face."

 

"Only almost, I must be slipping."

 

I rolled my eyes. "This is what I mean. He won't let you chat to him and then fall asleep. That's just stupid."

 

"I know what you're going to say," said Holly to me, "and it's a very bad idea."

 

"What?" said Lockwood.

 

"Well, obviously I'll do it," I said.

 

"No way." He placed his hands flat on the table.

 

"Quill and the ghost both know and trust me. Its a no-brainer."

 

"I am not letting you put yourself in harm's way." Lockwood pinned me with a hard stare. "It's far too emotional a situation."

 

"I've got it under control," I said. "And the ghost doesn't want to harm me." 

 

"You say that, but it is a Type Three, and nobody knows what it wants or what it might do. The answer's no."

 

"I am much more likely to be able to lull the ghost into falling asleep and letting me near it."

 

We glared at each other.

 

At last Lockwood sighed. "All right, fine. George said the same thing. But you mustn't take risks."

 

"Obviously."

 

"You know what I mean. Stick to the plan. You're a good agent, Luce  - the best  I know - but you do tend to veer off and follow your own ideas."

 

"I'll stick to the plan," I said, "because the plan is to save our friend's life."

 

"All right," said Holly. "So you go in. The rest of us will be nearby."

 

Lockwood said, "You do your bit, and I'll be there to trap the spirit. It won't be expecting me, so we'll have the element of surprise."

 

I said, "You'll be there? Where? Hiding under the bed? Dear god no,  by the way." This plan was sounding thinner and thinner by the moment.

 

"No. I'll be just outside. I'll listen for your signal."

 

"If the ghost tries anything there won't be time -" I thought of its speed, its strength. I knew of nothing which could stop it.

 

Lockwood said, "Do you really think it might hurt you?"

 

"I don't know. Maybe. If I made it angry, say, by flushing it out."

 

"Hmmn," said Lockwood.

 

"Option B," said George. Flo looked grimly happy. 

 

"It has to be," said Holly. "We can't risk it harming Lucy." 

 

"What's option B?" I demanded.

 

"Best you don't know," said Lockwood.

 

"That is not at all reassuring."

 

"But you'd better have these, just in case."  He drew from his pocket a length of fine chains. "Wrap it around yourself, especially your torso. It might put the ghost off long enough for me to stop it hurting you."

 

I pushed away the proffered chain. "What, under my clothes like some weird bedroom game?"

 

"Ooh," said Flo. She nudged George. 

 

Everyone flinched. 

 

"Something tells me the skull would absolutely love that," I said. 

 

"Not made of iron, it won't," said Lockwood.

 

"But how do I explain that to Quill - Oh, never mind. This whole plan is so flimsy I might as well walk in, tell the skull the game's up and ask it to exorcise itself."

 

"Just give Quill the silver," said George. "We'll take care of the rest." 

 

"It's a strong ghost," I said. "This could get very dangerous."

 

"Dangerous is what we do," said Lockwood. His eyes glittered. He sprang up. "Come on, we're wasting time, and Lucy has a date."

 

We filed into the street. Holly gave me a hug. "Be strong," she said. "We won't be far away."

 

They walked away, heading for the street behind Quill's house.

 

Lockwood lingered. "You're right," he said to me. His hair fell over his eyes. There were new silver strands in it since he left for Brazil, I noticed. He'd been to the Other Side again. Without me. 

 

"Right," I said, distracted by this idea. "Right about what?"

 

He caught hold of my hands. "You are the best person to do this job. Because you're the strongest of any of us, the best with ghosts. But you mustn't let emotions get in the way."

 

"Um, they won't, it's not like you think it is-"

 

"It never is," he said. "I used to talk about forever, and look where it got me." He grinned wryly, then brought my hands to his lips. "You've got this."

 

"I, uh -"  It was so unlike him, even when we were together, to be affectionate in public, that I didn't know what to say.  And the brush of his mouth to my knuckles ended all other thought,  instantly and completely, just as it had always done.   "I - Yes."

 

He released my hands.

 

"Thank you, Lockwood. For all of it."

 

He flashed me a smile, his dazzling smile of confidence and daring. "Any time."

 

That was ambiguous. I put it from my mind as he strode away, and I trudged to my date with the skull.


	16. Silver and steel

Act natural. That was the key.

Could I do that? I felt like I'd forgotten how I would naturally speak to Quill.

And then it struck me. I didn't have to. I could just speak to the skull. I'd chatted to it every day for years. I knew exactly how to talk to it.

Quill stood at his threshold waiting for me. The hall was dark, and behind him in the bedroom, the sky showed black at his window. "What's this, wine? Are you trying to get me drunk?" He leered at me.

"Like you need any encouragement." I placed the bottle on the coffee in front of Quill's sofa. "I just thought it might be nice. More grown up for a change."

"Dutch courage," hissed the skull. "I like it."

"I don't need courage," I lied, "to be around you. Just .. I feel like we need to relax. Calm down a little." I smiled to show I meant it nicely.

He didn't know how to take that. It must be a problem, being an inhuman dead thing. Knowing what the living really mean. "Whatever you want."

"Let's sit and have a drink," I said. I fetched glasses. "Music? See, we don't need to go out to have a good time."

He stood watching me tune the radio, and in his slouch I saw the ghost of the thin youth ... and something else. Uncertainty.

"Come on." I sat, patting the sofa. This was ok. I just had to talk to him, and then at some convenient moment, apply the liquid silver. Simple.

"I haven't kissed you hello," said the ghost.

Not simple. "Oh. Yes, of course." I steeled myself.

The weird thing was that Quill's lips on my cheek still felt like Quill, and so did his arms, holding me carefully. If I could make myself forget for a minute, I could just kiss him... But I couldn't forget.

"What's the matter? You look like you've swallowed a lobster with the shell on."

"Nothing." My hand automatically went to my belt, but of course, I'd put my rapier in the rack by the door.

"Come here then." Sulky impatience, now.

What choice did I have? Every part of me wanted to force him away from me, but I couldn't let him know I suspected. O braced myself to kiss him again. His neck was easier than his lips. I leaned reluctantly against him, giving a small peck above his collar.

He radiated unhappiness. "You're not like you normally are," he said at last.

I couldn't think of any excuse.

He glanced at me, and away, and back at me. At last he said in a hoarse voice, "Am I doing it wrong?"

"Uh -"

Of course, it was highly unlikely the thin youth had ever kissed anyone in his miserable, sinful life. His short life. How old had he been when he died? Sixteen?

In spite of myself, I felt a pang for him. And ... Was the skull really insecure about kissing? That was so awful as to be funny. I pressed my hand over my mouth. Do not laugh. Dangerous killers don't like it when you laugh at them.

I said slowly, "Do you really like me?"

The ghost wearing Quill's face gave a hideous grimace. "Do you need to ask?

"I  _am_  asking."

He dithered. This was definitely the skull talking. Quill never wavered on that point. "You're not so bad," he said at last. "I more than tolerate you."

From the skull, that was practically a declaration of endless love. I thought of all the times its advice had stopped me being murdered by ghosts. It did care for me, in its unsettling way. That should also make me safer with what I was about to do. In theory. "Good," I said softly. "I'm glad about that."

At the open window, the curtains flapped.

Quill leaned in. He ran his forefinger down my cheek. "Yes."

I said, to hide my shudder, "You saved me."

He frowned.

"From loneliness," I said hurriedly. This was true too. "You've been such good company."

"Didn't you already have company?" he said.

"The skull."

"Yes, whatever." He waved a hand like he couldn't recall which of my multitude of undead companions I might refer to, but his eyes glinted.

Time to be very enthusiastic about the skull, then. "Oh yes," I said. "The skull was my best friend. My only friend, for a long time. But I haven't seen it, him, for ages." Could I get the spirit to leave Quill of its own accord, to come out and show itself? "I miss him," I added, glancing wistfully towards the night.

Quill made an odd gurgling noise.

I waited.

"People have more fun than skulls," said the ghost, and lunged to kiss me again.

* * *

The wine made me fuzzy, but seemed not to make Quill sleepy at all. I turned down the lights, and kept giving big yawns and stretches, but he didn't take the hint.

Instead, he kept asking about the skull. The momentary insecurity had vanished. "Why didn't you toss it in the furnace, mouldy old thing?"

"I could never do that," I said. "It's never harmed me. It saved my life."

"But it's a roaming spirit, it could murder you in your sleep any time."

"I don't think it would ever harm me though."

"You think he's fond of you?"

My heart pounded. This felt like a trap. Through a fug of wine I tried to review what I'd told the ghost thus far. How to answer? Whatever I said might put both me and Quill in danger.

"I don't know what he thinks," I said. "Sometimes I wonder ... no, that's stupid."

The ghost took the bait. "What?"

"Sometimes I think... It has a bit of a thing about me." I smiled to show how crazy I was. I upended the rest of the bottle into Quill's glass.

He went all still.

"I suppose that's a bit unusual," I said.

The ghost pushed away the wine. "A bit? I'd say he needs to get a life." Quill laughed raucously.

"Bit difficult for him," I said.

"Good point. But I can't bear these victim types who moan about the harsh cards life's dealt them, and then do nothing about it."

"What can he do?" I said slowly. Was this a confession? "Have a heart. He was just a boy. Never had a chance to live, to see the world, to... Fall in love."

"Ha."

Silence after that.

"I'm knackered," I said. "I should probably go..."

The wind rattled the window.

"Stay," said Quill.

"Maybe just for a bit... here on the sofa." I was  _not_  climbing between the sheets with the skull.

Quill edged closer, sliding his arms around me. "Lucy," he whispered. "I've waited so long..."

"Mmn," I said. I could hear Quill's voice, but beneath it was the skull.

"I've watched you, longed for you... _"_

I froze.

"You spent years mooning over Lockwood... I had to watch while he broke your heart. I had to watch while you fought, while you made up, while he left you alone without a backwards glance."

"To be fair," I said, "you didn't  _have_  to watch."

"I did," he said. "Oh, you don't understand."

Was I more afraid he'd keep up the pretence, or that he'd confess? Would he reveal himself as the ghost and then... expect me to carry on, to ... My mind stuttered away from what the ghost wanted me to do to him, using Quill's body.

But that was how it was, I realised. I'd thought of the horrifying prospect of what the ghost might do to me... But in fact, I had things the wrong way round.

He wanted me to love him, to give him warmth and comfort and everything the dead can't have.

Again I felt, in spite of everything, that strange pang of sympathy.

"About the skull," I said.

"What?"

I turned round to face him. It was easier in the dark. "I want to repay him. But how? What can I do for a ... For him?"

Silence. Quill's eyes watched me warily.

I knew I was playing with fire - trying to talk to the ghost while pretending to talk to Quill. But my old temptation was on me. I was the only person I the world who could talk to ghosts. And here was one. Admittedly it was in the body of my unwitting boyfriend. But as my life went, that wasn't even that weird.

"Maybe I would give it a big hug," I said.

"Hug." The ghost snorted. "Yeah, nothing says thanks for saving my neck a hundred times like a hug."

"What then? What would satisfy him?" What would make the ghost go away? "Maybe ghosts just want to be loved, like everybody else."

"Huh." Obviously even he could see that was stretching it.

"Maybe a kiss," I said. "I mean that would mean something even to a ghost. Mind you, he's from a long time ago. Did they have kissing back then?"

Quill said, "He's been around for a hundred years, he could show you a thing or two."

I opened my mouth to reply, then stopped. What the hell was I doing, trying to goad it into attacking me? I remembered Lockwood's warning about sticking to the plan. "Forget it. I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm tired."

"Well it seemed to me you were busy fantasising about all sorts with a ghost."

"Um."

"He will have done it loads. He was quite a looker, in his day, from what I saw."

"Mmn."

"Quite your type, even."

Funny enough, he had a point. Slim men with big eyes and good hair were kind of my thing. Oh god.

"Maybe," I said, "maybe. But right now I'm with you and we're talking and it's nice, just as nice as the chats I used to have with the ghost, though obviously I miss him."

Was I laying it on too thick?

Apparently not. "He did you a ton of favours when you think about it," said Quill.

"Oh yes. I do think about it." How had he not noticed I had transmogrified into a fawning yes-woman? "Ah, well, he's gone. Time for some rest, I think..."

I switched off the last lamp and snuggled down into the ratty old sofa as if it represented the pinnacle of slumber comfort.

Quill, or the ghost, leaned over me. Oh god. I felt for the silver bottle in my pocket. If necessary I would shove the whole lot down his throat, asleep or not. -And yell for Lockwood.

But the ghost didn't do what I feared. He stroked my hair back from my forehead, and hesitated, then kissed me tenderly on the lips. Just that. No groping, no lewd suggestions, nothing. Just his mouth touching mine and his near-silent whisper, in Quill's voice and in my mind: " _I love you._ "

And then he put his head on my shoulder and went to sleep, and I lay shaking and trying to get up the courage to poison my boyfriend and my best friend, all in one go.

* * *

The top wouldn't come off the bottle. I sat up, trying not to wake Quill, and wrestled with it, but the bloody thing was stuck. I swore silently, using a few words borrowed off the skull over the years, and finally wrenched out the cork-

-And spilled liquid silver all over Quill's sleeping face.

He woke with a shriek and said in the ghost's voice, " _What the hell?_ " and saw me holding the empty bottle.

In two more seconds he was on his feet on the coffee table, his eyes wild, hair spiked up and a green glow surrounding him.

I screamed and rolled onto the floor, scrabbling for my sword. The silver was gone, the bottle empty.

" _How could you,_ " hissed the ghost in Quill's body. " _How could you do it to me?_ "

"Me? How could  _you_?" In the dark I couldn't find the rack where I'd stuck my rapier.

" _You don't love him, you love me_."

The curtains swirled in the breeze, and the windows rattled.

"What? You? The one who's using a stolen body to get me into bed with you?"  _There_  was the sword. I snatched it, but I had been too slow.

Quill, or the ghost, swarmed over the bed and jumped down on my side. He loomed over me, putting his shoe on my sword. He bent over me, and his eyes burned. A wave of cold air emanated from him, so cold I couldn't move.

The windows rattled again.

" _I love you_ ," hissed the ghost, " _and this is how you treat me, going off with Lockwood and then Quill Kipps, what does that say about you and how desperate you are_  -"

The window burst open and Lockwood leapt into the room, rapier in hand, coat tails flying.

The ghost jumped back. I seized the opportunity and plucked my sword from the floor, dancing back, holding Quill at bay.

Lockwood approached Quill, or the ghost, step by menacing step. "Let her go. And Quill too. I'm warning you."

The ghost thumbed its nose to him, and turned back to me. " _You're mine_ ," he said.

I ducked the ghost's outstretched hands, and climbed over the bed, the ghost flowing over it behind me. Its glow was bright now, outlining Quill's body with a sickly aura. I shrieked as it reached for me. "Get off me!" I scrambled for the light switch and slammed it on, dazzling us all. "Lockwood! Is this it? Is this Option B?"

"No," said Lockwood, "this is," and he struck at Quill, and sliced him through the heart.


	17. Discussions in the dark

The ghost screamed, and poured from Quill's mouth in a sickening ectoplasmic stream. For a second, as Quill toppled, Lockwood and I saw the ghost of the thin youth, wild-eyed and raving, and then he vanished.

 

  
Quill dropped to the floor.

Lockwood said to me, "Are you hurt?  _Are you hurt?_ " His long coat was covered in blood.

"No." My teeth rattled. Quill's blood spattered my clothes too. There was more blood on his carpet, and still more spreading over his chest. I stuck my fist against my mouth, and wobbled.

Lockwood snatched up my coat from its hook, and sort of caught me in it, wrapping it around my shoulders. "Deprac are coming," he said. "But we need to find that ghost."

Holly and George burst through the door, George wielding his rapier, Holly carrying a first aid kit. They saw Quill on the floor and swarmed over to him.

"Quill-" I said, but he was unconscious on the floor and could not hear me. I drew a raw, shuddering breath.

Then I picked up my sword and faced Lockwood. "Come on. Let's get that ghost.'

* * *

"Lockwood. I was wrong about forever."

"Great philosophical opening, Luce, but it's hardly the time."

We were in the dark hall of Quill's boarding house, tiptoeing along the worn carpet, searching for signs of the ghost. Lockwood was using his Sight. I touched the walls, trying to pick up traces of the spirit. But of course there was nothing. This ghost could roam.

I said, "I thought - when you went to Brazil - I thought you'd left me. Broken up with me."

"Right." We reached the next lodger's front door, and paused, listening. None of the telltale signs of a haunting emerged from inside. No terror-stricken screams, for example. The room seemed unoccupied.

I shook my head at Lockwood and we proceeded to the next door. "I didn't realise you were giving us another chance."

"Not an ideal time, Luce." He stopped abruptly. "What's that?"

I'd seen it too, a pale green glow, streaking up the stairs towards us. It dissolved to nothing, and vanished.

Lockwood swore.

I went on, "Actually it is. It's because of this that I was afraid. To say yes. Because we might not see tomorrow."

Lockwood said, "It's here. Taunting us. It could be anywhere."

We adopted battle stance, back to back. We turned in a circle, shoulder blades touching, searching for signs of the ghost.

_I'm never going back._

"He's here," I said. "I can hear him."

"That empty room," said Lockwood.

We crept along. Our breathing was the only sound. Beside me Lockwood was poised, alert. His sword was still horribly red.

I said, "But now I know.  _This_  is why I should have said yes. Because it's not tomorrow I wanted with you. Or forever. It's now. That's what you meant, isn't it?"

There was a noise ahead of us - something crashing in the empty room.

As one, we sprang apart and raced for the door. It was shut, and locked, and heavy objects were being piled against it.

"He's strong," said Lockwood. "We might need to retreat, go and fetch the others - And yes."

He shouldered the door, and I shoved alongside him.

"What the bleeding heck is going on here then?"

A shrill voice interrupted our efforts: Quill's mum.

Lockwood blinked at her, approaching through the darkness in a towelling dressing-gown and curlers. Then he recovered and said smoothly, "You must be Mrs Kipps. There is a dangerous ghost in this building and I'm sorry to say all the residents are in grave danger."

He bestowed on her his soothing, aristocratic smile. "It's all under control, but you should go back downstairs, and get behind your ghost defences, right now."

"What? Where's my son, he lives on this floor -"

"Quill is assisting us," said Lockwood calmly. "You would do us a great favour by giving us space to work."

"Please," I said to her. I couldn't bear to think about Quill, in his room. "You know what we do."

She turned away doubtfully, and Lockwood and I barged the door and crashed into the empty room.

* * *

The room was furnished, but unoccupied. In the flickering light from the ghost lamps down in the street, we saw a bed, chest of drawers and a white sink. Chairs and a table lay overturned on the floor where we had smashed our way inside.

The ghost was nowhere to be seen. But he could materialise at will.

-And he did, emerging at head height in a burst of green light, and swooping at Lockwood. I grabbed Lockwood's arm and dragged him to a crouch, and the ghost flew over our heads.

Then it vanished.

Lockwood stood, and turned in the centre of the room. I knew he was using his Sight. "Nothing."

"It could be anywhere," I said, and the ghost appeared and gave a repeat performance of the swoop-and-vanish act. "We can't risk drawing it towards Quill and the others. Skull! Come out!"

No reply. Outside, the ghost lamps spat their brilliant white light, and then went out, and on again, in an endless sequence.

"Bit of a tight spot," said Lockwood. He pushed his hair back from his brow. "Lucy, been meaning to ask you something -"

"What?" I concentrated, but there was not even the tiniest whisper from the ghost.

"Do you love him?"

"It's a  _skull_ , Lockwood."

"I meant Quill."

"Oh." The door to the hallway still hung open. Light and shadow spilled through, showing movement from George and Holly in the room next door.

"No," I said. A guilty weight pressed on my heart, but it was true. "I mean as a friend -"

"That's fine."

"I was just lonely, he was nice -"

"I don't need all the details, Luce." Lockwood prowled the empty room, searching in every corner.

"The skull understood," I said. "It was lonely too."

Lockwood groaned. "And the three of you went out on jobs in this state? Good god, Lucy, it's amazing you weren't ghost-touched on day one."

"I know! But the ghost, he kept us safe, he just... wanted me all to himself."

Lockwood made a face. "Well, we all have our burdens. Skull! Come out! We want to talk to you."

_What, when she says she doesn't even love me?_

He was there, very close to me: the youth with the spiky hair and the sneer, lounging against the chest of drawers.

I squeaked and jumped back.

_Poor old Quill, you couldn't give a fig for him either._

"I do care for Quill, as a friend," I said. "It was a casual thing, remember?"

He pointed at the bed.  _Highly casual. Oh, sorry Lockwood, didn't see you there._

I narrowed my eyes and raised my rapier. Beyond the ghost, Lockwood was advancing too. I tried to distract the ghost, keep it talking. "You know damn well how it was with me and Quill. Quill had no problem with our ... relationship. He'd had..." I realised the truth of this as the words left my lips - "plenty of girlfriends. He didn't need me, it was just fun."

Lockwood made a strangled sound.

"But you," I said to the youth. "You were my best friend. How could you do this?"

_Sometimes people want to be more than just friends_ , said the skull.

"I get that, but this is not the way."

_What choice do I have?_

I rolled my eyes. "Oh I don't know,  _not_ possessing people?"

The ghost made a repulsive face.

"This is getting us nowhere," muttered Lockwood.

The ghost raised its arm, narrowly missing my face, and made an obscene gesture at Lockwood. Then it sauntered right past me and into the hallway, trailing a blast of cold air.

"Wait - skull -" I chased after it, Lockwood cursing behind me. "I do care about you! You know that! But you must understand we could never -"

_Never is a long time._

"This isn't you," I cried, facing it in the hallway. "You saved us all those times - think! You're better than this!"

_Than this sorry performance?_  It indicated the scene.  _Blood, running about, panicking, and last minute discussions about feelings? I should think I am better than this, by quite some way._

The ghost dissolved from youth to wisp of green. The wisp hovered, casting its glow over Lockwood's face.

"Wait!" I cried.

Lockwood said, "Lucy. Stop talking."

I edged my blade closer to the green glow. "Skull, if you touch him -"

_Touch him, no thanks, that's your fantasy. But I do have some other ideas._

"Lucy no-"

"Just talk to me," I began.

And then the ghost surged forward and plunged into my open mouth and down my throat.

* * *

I'd never heard Lockwood swearing like that. But then I'd also never lain on a threadbare carpet in a boarding house hallway, my chest squeezed full of ghost and my brain clenched tight by another being's will.

" _Getting up now,_ " I said, except it wasn't me speaking. My mouth moved like someone had their fingers around it, and was cranking my jaw up and down.

I stood.

Lockwood sprang back. "It will be all right, Lucy," he said. He didn't sound very sure.

The ghost said through me, " _This was a brilliant idea. I wish I'd thought of it years ago._ "

"It won't work," said Lockwood. "Lucy's far too strong for you."

" _Maybe_." I watched, helpless as I pointed my blade at his neck.

"Lucy won't hurt me," he said.

I heard the skull say in my voice, " _Oh, I don't know. You broke her heart_." I stepped forward with the blade, and Lockwood stepped back. He hadn't lifted his sword in reply. " _You wouldn't believe the amount of furious sobbing I had to put up with when you left. Or the nauseating dependence on fast food and late night television. I think Lucy has got a few issues to work out, and I'd say hurting you is very much on the menu."_

I knew what it was going to do. I tried to freeze, but the ghost insisted.

My blade darted at Lockwood, daring him to raise his own rapier and parry. He didn't move. Please, Lockwood, no. My mind was screaming.  _No_ , I thought, as hard as I could, but my voice said, " _Come on then, golden boy. Show us what you've got."_


	18. Lovey dovey

I'd often duelled with Lockwood. We practised together often at Portland Row, a necessary training for the job, and an unnecessary but pleasurable way to spend time together when work was quiet. He was strong and swift and his skill had always outmatched my own.

Now we fought in earnest in the dark corridor at Quill's boarding house. Our shoes thudded on the thin carpet. Our coats whipped around our bodies as we lunged and parried. He kept me at bay with practised wrist flicks, his eyes never leaving mine.

I could not match his skill, but with the ghost in me, I was strong. Every time our blades met, I forced him a little more to the defensive. Lockwood fought back, but I was ruled by the ghost's unnatural strength - and I was trying my hardest to kill him.

He said, "Leave Lucy alone. She's not yours."

" _Not yours either, pretty boy. It takes more than hair gel and an air of secret sorrow to rock her world these days_."

"She's not mine," said Lockwood, holding his blade against my own. His stance remained easy and light; yet he held that blade steady as a rock. "She's not yours, she's not Quill's. Lucy belongs to herself. Get out of her body."

" _Her_   _body._   _Ha_." At this I watched in horror as my hands formed a horribly lewd pantomime.

Lockwood's mouth twitched, but he wouldn't respond to the ghost's disgusting display.

" _Oh_ ,  _I'm sorry, with you two it was all lovey dovey, wasn't it, right up until someone decided that just going out wasn't enough."_  My arm shot out, my blade arrowing towards his face. " _Stuff got real_ then _, eh buddy?_ "

Lockwood ducked my swipe. He said, "I love Lucy as a friend and as a colleague, and there's nobody I'd rather have by my side in a haunted situation. You'll never know what it means to value her like that."

" _Oh won't I?_ " But beneath the ghost's sneer, my heart was hurting.

"No," said Lockwood, "because you have no respect for her." He lunged, not at me but my sword, trying to disarm me. I leapt back. He said again, "Let her go."

" _Or you'll what? You'd never hurt her_."

"She would rather die than live with your filthy invasion."

This was not very comforting.

I tried to speak, speak for myself, but it was as if mucus filled my throat. I couldn't talk, couldn't do anything the ghost did not order. The impulse of my mind was ignored by my kidnapped body.

Lockwood advanced on me, eyes narrowed. Quill's blood lined his sword. Lockwood thrust at my blade.

I dodged easily and stepped towards the light spilling from Quill's room.

Lockwood followed. The ghost brought me back to Quill's doorway and pointed through.

In the room, a pathetic scene: Quill, limp on the floor, Holly kneeling over him with her arms covered in blood, and George, white-faced, pressing a large dressing pad to Quill's chest.

Lockwood's gaze darted to the room, then back. His expression did not alter.

The ghost made me step towards him. My blade thrust at his throat.

Lockwood did not move. He seemed frozen.

I screamed No inside as my arm tensed, ready for a final chop at Lockwood.

At last Lockwood moved - a sudden cut at my midriff. I dodged.

" _You haven't got the guts,_ " sneered the skull. " _You've already murdered Kipps. Yes, you know it. You're shaking like a leaf under that floppy coat of yours. Even if you could get near me, which you can't, you'd never land a blade on me in that state_."

"Wrong," said Lockwood. "On all counts."

With a surge of strength he clashed blades with me and flicked my rapier away. Casting his own aside, he flung himself at me and tackled me to the floor.

I shrieked, then grunted - Lockwood weighs as much as a horse, and he had just landed his full body weight on me.

"George," said Lockwood. His hair was falling into my eyes.

George, one hand still pressing on the fallen Quill, pulled from his trouser pocket a bottle, and tossed it to Lockwood.

"Thanks." Lockwood tore out the cork with his teeth, pinning me down all the while.

" _You were never this keen before,_ " said the skull. The words came out in gasps - I could barely breathe. " _Learn a few things in the jungle, did we?_ "

"Lucy," said Lockwood. "Open your mouth."

" _No_ ," said the skull.

"You're strong," Lockwood said to me. His face was close to mine. His breath was warm on my cheek, and I smelled his aftershave, that spicy one he liked. The blood on his coat was soaking into my top. Beside us, Holly and George wrestled with bandages and dressings. "You're the strongest person I know. I've never met anyone with your affinity for ghosts, or your power over them. Open your mouth."

I tried to tell him that I couldn't, but I couldn't do that either.

" _I'll stop breathing, I think_ ," the skull said. " _I'll start again when you back off, obviously_."

"Don't you dare," said Lockwood. He kept aiming for me with the silver bottle, but under the ghost's control, I was flinging my head about.

" _I like dares_ ," said the ghost.

My throat closed up. My head throbbed. The room turned yellow, then red. Blackness started coming in around the edges of my vision.

Was my heart still beating?

The skull released me for a second and I drew a shuddering breath.

" _Just think_ ," it said to Lockwood, " _if I let her die she and I can be together forever_."

It made me smirk horribly at him, and then clamped up my throat once more.

"There's no such thing as forever," said Lockwood, and grabbed my chin, wrenched open my jaw and poured the bottle of silver into my mouth. "Drink it, Lucy. Swallow it!"

I was trying, but I couldn't. The skull had stopped my breath. The liquid sloshed about in my mouth, useless. Lockwood's face faded from view.

His hands clutched my shoulders. I didn't want to, but I was going to die.

"Lucy," he said. "God, no. Lucy!" He sat back, cradling my head in his hands.

The tenderness in his touch, the break in his voice... they were signs of life and love. I clung to those things, and sought strength in them, quashing the ghost's evil hold on me, and I drank down all the silver.

* * *

The ghost left me in a foul-tasting stream. I heaved, and he was gone. A green glow shot from the room.

I spluttered, retched, and fell back. My head hit the floor.

"Luce!" Lockwood clutched me. "Lucy!"

"I'm all right." I coughed. My throat felt like I'd gargled scorpions. "Is Quill -"

"Holly and George have it under control. Are you sure you're all right?"

"...Squashed." He was still pinning me down.

"Sorry." He slid aside. "Can you stand?"

I took his hand and pulled myself to my feet. "Thanks."

"I didn't think it would actually hurt you," he said. "You were always its treasure -"

 _Treasure_. I stumbled into Quill's room. My legs, in fact all my limbs, felt raw and rough, as if every joint and tendon had been stretched further than comfortable. I put my hand on the doorframe.

Lockwood hovered anxiously beside me.

"The source," I said. "The skull. I know where it is."


	19. Tough Luck

I said, "Quill has a box, a kind of treasure box -"

Lockwood and I hunted through the room, wrenching open drawers, dragging clothes from cupboards. I crouched down to check under the bed, and found that my legs had gone numb. I swore as my whole lower body was struck with the worst pins and needles ever. "Ah! It's here. Under the bed."

Lockwood rolled underneath and fetched out the box, the one Quill had shown me, weeks before.

"It's locked," I said as Lockwood produced Quill's box of secrets.

"It's all right, I can pick locks," said George, coming over. He glanced at me and Lockwood. Quill was quiet on the floor. George looked more worried than I'd ever seen him. But he sat and patiently licked the lock on Quill's treasure box, and opened it.

Inside the box lay the skull.

George grabbed his satchel and produced a jar. The jar was silver glass, like the old one I'd kept the ghost in for years, but much smaller. George flicked the lid to Lockwood, and reached for the skull.

As I crouched, fighting the ache in my limbs, George lifted the skull. And the ghost of the youth materialised.

He shimmered towards me, eyes wide.

_Don't do it. Please. Lucy, stop him. I'll never do anything like this again. I promise -_

The voice was cut off as George dropped the skull, none too gently, into the silver glass jar.

"Tough luck," said Lockwood, and screwed on the lid.

"Whew." George sat back on his haunches, shoving Quill's box aside, letting his treasures spill out onto the carpet.

The sight tore at my heart. "Put them back," I said, and sat up, legs tingling, to do it. Kneeling on the carpet I gathered up old newspaper clippings, Fittes medals, snaps of Quill with various people ... and a photo of me, taken on the scenic route back from Yorkshire.

My eyes blurred. Tears fell from my eyes, straight down into the box. I was shaking, crouched on the floor with the remnants of foolish memories, and foolish mistakes, and I couldn't get up.

Quill lay very still. His breath seemed to be bubbling. Holly's face was taut. There was blood  _everywhere_.

Deprac arrived, complete with medics. Inspector Montagu Barnes, our old ally, stepped into the room. He took in the scene in one glance: George with his satchel now fastened and bulging, Holly pressing a surgical pad over Quill's terrible wound, me on the floor crying, and Lockwood, pale and speechless, standing frozen, his bloodied rapier abandoned in the hall.

"Right," said Barnes, and pointed at me. "Get her out of here. Now."

* * *

I don't remember going to the hospital, or being checked over by medics, both psychic and regular. I do know that everyone was there, even Flo, for a brief while. George gave her his satchel and she vanished.

I don't know when we found out where Quill was, or how we got from my bit of the hospital to there. I vaguely remember Lockwood sending George and Holly home.

The first clear memory I have is of a wide corridor with a shiny linoleum floor and bright white ceiling lights. An orange plastic bench ran around the wall in a wider area opposite double doors which led to the surgical suite. Here Lockwood and I sat, and waited.

I was dressed in clean clothes. Holly had brought me clothes from home. They weren't my favourites, but it hardly mattered. My ghost-stained clothes, and Lockwood's bloodied coat, were stuffed in a plastic bag marked Medical Waste on the floor.

Lockwood sat in shirt sleeves, his collar unbuttoned. His face was pale and drawn. A line of dark hair ran over his upper lip where he hadn't shaved since the morning. His shirt was creased. His hair was flat. He looked worn and tired, more ordinary.

I said, "Do you want toast?"

He didn't answer.

"They force-fed me tea and biscuits when they checked me over, but I know you won't have had anything. Do you want toast?"

"No." Lockwood sprang up and paced around the corridor in front of the double doors. Then he stopped, gazing at the doors, his fists clenching and unclenching.

It struck me that Lockwood, for the first time since I'd known him, was afraid.

I got up and moved to block his view of the doors. "Lockwood -"

"What if Quill's dead?" he said. "Christ, Luce, I've killed him."

He tore at his hair. He was trembling, his eyes wild.

I approached him carefully, as you would a wounded lion. He stood, tense and unresponsive as I came near. I took his hands. "Anthony," I said, and then he was clinging to me, his face in my hair, mumbling about death and murder and precision.

I stood holding him and patting his back, as neutrally as possible. Quill had been here in surgery for a long time, longer than it would take to save him. The hospital was quiet and still, and I sensed that the drama was over, and that there would be no rush to talk to us, give us bad news.

I wondered about Quill's mum. I would need to explain it all to her, if the surgeon had not already. The ghost took him, killed him.

Thinking about the ghost made my jaw tighten. George would have sent Flo off to destroy it. That was the right thing to do, of course. They couldn't have waited for me. But it left my pain and anger nowhere to go.

Lockwood's shivering soon subsided. He took a deep breath, and let it out. His arms tightened around me, as if in thanks.

I was not about to push him away. We stood there a long time, resting, finding comfort in each other's presence. It felt as if we were fighting time, fighting the arrival of bad news and consequences, together.

The double doors crashed open and a doctor in a green gown came out, peeling off long latex gloves.

Lockwood and I parted slowly. His fists clenched at his side. I realised I was holding my breath.

"Quill's going to be all right," the doctor said to us. "Somehow the sword strike passed between all major organs. Everything vital was missed. An astonishing piece of luck."

Lockwood clutched at my hand.

I glanced at him. Luck...

"He's lost a bit of blood," said the doctor, "but he'll be good as new before you know it."

Lockwood stepped forward and wordlessly shook the doctor's hand.

"They'll bring him through from recovery at some point," said the doctor. "He probably won't be able to speak, but you'll see him on his way past."

When the doctor had gone, I sank back onto the bench. Lockwood sat beside me, his elbows on his knees.

For a while we didn't speak. The corridor remained white and shiny and bleak. Then I drew a long breath, and let it out, and Lockwood eased his shoulders out of a hunched position, and we looked at each other.

"It wasn't luck," I said. "You practised. All day in the basement. You practised that strike."

He nodded. "Yes. Then I cramped up my wrist, clinging to that bloody window ledge all night." He glanced sideways up at me. "Thought I'd cocked it up, actually got him through the heart."

"But you didn't. It was just close enough to make the ghost think you were going to."

He grimaced.

I thought about Lockwood, practising a move so precise as to save someone's life whilst looking like it wouldn't. The strain he must have been under. Yet he leapt down into that room as lightly as a cat.

"You were so brave, Luce," he said. "All night shut up with the ghost. You sounded completely unafraid."

I shook my head. "It's weird. When I thought about how it wasn't Quill, I was almost paralysed with fear. But when when I looked in his eyes and saw ... the skull... I wasn't scared."

Lockwood's eyes darkened.

"I don't think the ghost would have let me die," I said. "I was only afraid for Quill."

I didn't tell him what the ghost had said to me about love. What was the point?

"Hmmn," said Lockwood. "Well, it's now trapped, so it won't have the chance to try."

He straightened up. "I wonder how long it will be before they bring Quill out."

"I don't know. But I'm staying."

"Of course you are. So am I." He shifted on the bench, stretching out his long legs in front of him. "Better get comfortable."

Without any preamble, he tucked his arm around me and pulled me gently against his chest. "Sleep," he said, "you need it. I'll wake you when Quill comes through."

And amazingly I did sleep, almost straightaway, lying in an ugly sprawl across a plastic bench in a bright hospital corridor, with my ear to Lockwood's heart.

* * *

The squeak of hospital trolley wheels found us both asleep, arms around each other, propped in the corner of the bench.

I jolted awake and sat up. "Quill!"

Lockwood and I stood as the trolley, two porters, and two nurses, emerged through the double doors.

Quill lay propped up on the trolley, attached by many tubes to the drips being wheeled alongside him. His face was pale, but he was awake.

He saw Lockwood and me, and the porters stopped the trolley.

Quill fixed his gaze on Lockwood.

"Quill," said Lockwood, his voice cracking.

When Quill spoke he sounded normal - tired, but just as he always had. "I want to thank you," he said to Lockwood.

"Well, actually it was Lucy who -"

"For saving my life," went on Quill. His grey eyes were directed steadfastly at Lockwood. "I'll never forget that."

"Like I say, Lucy was the one who realised -"

"I hope we'll always be friends, Tony," said Quill.

"Er. Of course -"

At last Quill turned his gaze to me.

"Quill," I said, starting forward, tears in my eyes.

Quill looked at me for a long moment. His face held no expression. Then he looked deliberately away. He spoke to nobody in particular. "I never want to see her again."

I stopped. Quill's face was turned from me. "I -"

But the porters took their cue, and wheeled the trolley away.


	20. A world cast in silver

 

Someone brushed the worst of the stains from Lockwood's jacket. Someone else asked for his autograph, and he wrote on their clinical clipboard wihout a shade of hesitation, as if this was the world he inhabited now. People peered curiously at me as Lockwood and I made our way towards the hospital exit, and I heard uncertain mumbles of my name.

 

Outside it was bright day. The air outside the hospital foyer was cold and damp, threatening sleet.

 

As Lockwood and I stepped out into the car park, a woman ran up with a camera and took our picture. Specifically, she took his picture, and I happened to be in it.

 

Lockwood waved her away, not rudely, just in fatigue. She ran off again, smiling.

 

"Bit of a nuisance. Portland Row will be more of the same," he said. "The press hang about to catch us coming back from big cases. They'll know we've been out, and that the others are back without me. She got lucky, guessing at a hospital visit."

 

"You can't tell her Quill was possessed." Inspector Barnes had made this very clear. He'd collared us as we left, and banged on about the victim's right to anonymity.

 

"No need. There's enough with the haunting of a boarding house, and an innocent civilian's injury, as it is." He grimaced, but I knew this was business as usual:  agents did the work, Deprac controlled the resulting headlines, for the public good.

 

"Quill might talk to the press," I said. It was odd to say his name in that detached way, but I might as well get used to it. And although I was hurt by his reaction to me, it was for the best.

 

"Would you?" said Lockwood.

 

"No. Plus most of what the skull said and did is unprintable."

 

"That's true."

 

The taxi rank was far from the entrance, a piece of stupid design that allowed me to drag out the time before I had to wish Lockwood goodbye.

 

Finally we arrived at the rank. We slowed, and halted.

 

"I might walk, actually," said Lockwood.

 

"Mmn. Me too." A thought struck me. "Sorry, unless you want to be alone-?"

 

"No."

 

"Right."

 

We walked. It was late morning, a strange time to be walking home. The streets were deserted, the shops were shut. I tried to recall what day it was. 

 

"Are you all right?" Lockwood asked.

 

"Yeah." I stopped trying to make my tired brain work, and walked.

 

London was full of a morning feeling, of life and light daring to come out. People opened their windows, cleared away burned-out lavender braziers, and swept away the salt lines from their front doors. 

 

In daylight, they were safe. The ghosts had withdrawn for another day, and the agents and night watch kids could go home. It was time for everyone else to come out, to lead their lives and try to forget that the city was haunted.

 

Through windows, we glimpsed families eating lunch together, clinking wine glasses, defying the ghosts...

 

...With paper hats on.

 

Lockwood said, "It's Christmas Day."

 

I said, "Tell me about Brazil."

 

* * *

 

 

We passed building sites and abandoned houses, fancy shops and run-down corner stores. We crossed junctions and turned corners and wandered across the little parks that scatter London with pockets of greenery and air.

 

Lockwood talked about his travels, the artefacts he'd collected to rebuild his parents' collection and continue their work into solving the ghost problem. He told of shamanic escorts into the other side, and of non ghost-related adventures - of Holly dancing Carnival in Argentina, and George hunting down the only fish and chips in Brazil.

 

The sleet held off, and pale sunshine brightened the edges of the clouds. The world seemed cast in silver, cold but lovely.

 

Lockwood said, "I followed your cases. A few of them made the international papers."

 

"Oh." I hadn't thought about it. 

 

"Pictures too."

 

"Oh god. Not that one after the Yorkshire school. Me and the client and she's trying to hug me." I groaned.

 

 "That's the one."

 

"It was awful. I mean she was being nice but it was an awful picture." Mainly because I don't take well to being forcibly hugged.

 

"It looked like you."

 

"Thanks a lot."

 

He grinned. "Well, it was an update on the only other picture I had of you." He pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket and unfolded it to show me.

 

There, beneath clear plastic, was a cropped newspaper photo of Lockwood's arm, and me covered in ectoplasm and magnesium flare burns. Salt stains spattered my clothes.

 

"The Watney Wisp," I recalled. "Ugh, my hair is actually still smoking. And my skin is terrible. Why would you even have that picture?"

 

He put the wallet away, smiling. "I like it."

 

That shut me up.

 

We entered another green square, and began our diagonal path across it.  

 

"Listen," he said, stopping beside a signpost for Duck Pond and Play Area. "Last night at the boarding house. We said a few things..."

 

I stopped too, and waited. Ducks quacked softly in the distance.

 

"I wondered," he said.

 

That was all. When it was clear he was not going to add anything, I said, "You were amazing. For doing what you did.  And ...about all of this." I waved a hand, encompassing Brazil, Quill, the ghost, my general poor behaviour. "I made stupid mistakes. I know now that I hurt you. So I'm sorry. I know it's too late."

 

He considered me, his head on one side. "Is it?"

 

My heart skipped a beat, then came back hammering. "Isn't it?"

 

He made a mouth shrug, and we walked on, side by side. 

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually we reached my flat. I hadn't even made a conscious decision to go there but suddenly we were in my street. 

 

I didn't invite him in, just unlocked the front door and walked up the stairs. He followed.

 

"It's clean," he said in surprise as I opened my own door.

 

Clean? It was bare. I'd spent all day tossing out everything I could no longer stand to look at, which was almost everything. My casebook lay open on the windowsill. The sink gleamed, and the bed was stripped down to a single white sheet. My suitcase stood on the swept floor.

 

"Where are you going?" he asked.

 

"I don't know. Just somewhere else."

 

I made him egg on toast, and a big pot of tea. I hadn't been going to eat, but suddenly I was starving. I emptied the rest of the eggs into the pan and ate the lot. It would only have gone in the bin, anyway. I wasn't staying.

 

I hunted for topics of conversation. "So, George and Flo - are they a proper thing?"

 

Lockwood said drily, "From the number of baths they take together, I hope so."

 

I blanched at that. "Wow." 

 

"Yes. Flo's basically always around. George has hardly said anything about it, but they seem happy. I think they wanted to be together, and just quietly got on with it." He paused, and made a face. "Well. Not always quietly."

 

There was a disturbing idea. "Yikes. And Holly... Does she have anybody?"

 

"I think so. She keeps her private life very private."

 

"Good for her."

 

"I ought to ring them, actually," Lockwood said, pushing away his empty plate. He'd called from the hospital to let them know about Quill, but that was all. "Tell them where I've got to."

 

He made no move towards my phone, though, but sat twirling his mug of tea round and round.

 

"Go ahead," I said.

 

He caught my eye. "Actually, I think they can probably guess where I am."

 

I didn't know what to say.

 

Lockwood stood. So did I.  "I'm knackered," he said.

 

"Yeah. Turns out twenty minutes on a hard plastic bench is not quite enough sleep to completely restore me." Followed by traipsing halfway across London, but I wouldn't have missed that for anything.

 

His gaze on me,  Lockwood took his wallet out of his pocket again and laid it on my table. Then he emptied his other pocket - penknife, handkerchief, packet of polos. 

 

"Ok," I said. I eased my feet out of my shoes,  and he did the same. 

 

He pulled off his tie and threw it on top of the wallet. 

 

I took his hand. "Sleep," I said.

 

It was peculiar, to lead him by the hand to my unusually pristine bed, and lie down fully clothed, facing him. Peculiar but wonderful.

 

"Lockwood," I said after we had gazed at each other a long time. "Does this mean-?"

 

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

 

"Me neither, but when am I ever?"

 

He laughed, then stopped when he saw tears start in my eyes. "Hey."

 

"I'm all right."

 

He stroked my hair, then ran his thumb over my cheek. "I know it's too soon."  

 

"Mmn." I touched his cheek in turn,  ran my fingers over his jaw - a dark hair where his razor had missed, the warm skin of his neck - and traced a path to his collar. He didn't stop me.

 

His thumb brushed my mouth, then he let his hand trail away. 

 

The thing was, it didn't feel too soon. It felt like it was only just in time.

 

I lay my hand on his chest. After a moment, he placed his palm deliberately on my waist. 

 

I said, "Anthony," but there was nothing to add, so I pulled him close.  He kissed me, just gently, and I shivered under his touch. This wasn't like our old kisses, full of childish arrogance about love.  This was something hesitant and fragile, sweet but powerful.

 

I took his hand and folded it in my own. There was a lot to say, but now was not the moment. I smiled at him.

 

Lockwood drew a long breath. He leaned over and kissed my cheek -  swift but possessive - then flung his head back on my pillow. Things seemed resolved. Maybe not forever, but then, only ghosts have forever. The rest of us have to make do with right now.

 

He lay looking at me, and gradually his eyelids fluttered and closed.

 

I watched him sleep, his hand in mine. Eventually the tension drained from my body.  The windows showed grey winter light outside, sleet pattering the glass. The flat was still and peaceful.  I closed my eyes.

 

 

 

 

 


	21. Old friends and news

I saw Quill the other day. He was looking very fine, with a smart jacket and a fancy sword. Tight jeans, pointed shoes. I smiled as he crossed the road to say hello.

"How's it going?" I gave him a half hug.

Quill kissed my cheek. He was wearing a different aftershave. "Very good, very good. Business is booming."

"I've been following your cases," I said. "Seems like having a genuine expert is really bringing them in."

"True." A shadow passed between us then, but we glanced at each other and nodded it away. "How are you, Lucy?" he asked softly. "I heard you're back with Lockwood and Co."

"As a partner agency, yes. I'm well, very well. And -"

He took my left hand, turned it over. "Beautiful," he said, and if there was anything but admiration in his voice, I couldn't hear it. The jewel flashed in the sunlight. "Is it a diamond?'

"Sapphire," I said. "Lockwood likes sapphires." I smiled. "So do I."

"Have you set a date?"

"You'll know when we do. Not for ages though. And, er -"

He produced his wallet, unfolded it and showed me a picture. It was of a strikingly beautiful and rather wispy girl.

"An agent?" I asked, though it was hard to imagine her with a sword.

He laughed, put the wallet away. "A television producer. We're talking about setting up our own regular show."

He would love that. Kipps on possession. "Great idea," I said. "I hope that goes well."

"Well, I'm the only person in living memory to have survived a determined possession. I've kind of cornered the market."

I frowned seriously to hide my smile. "Yes, that's right."

"Gotta play the unique angle for all it's worth."

"You're great on TV," I said.

The conversation was over, but we stood together a little longer. I could still picture him, my Quill, the person who'd kept me company that lonely year, who'd made me laugh and infuriated me with his complaining and who, astonishingly, had also wanted to kiss me. But in front of me now was Quill my old colleague and Quill the new celebrity, a touch of arrogance, a touch of self-satisfaction.

And that was OK.

* * *

The London Herald

 _Society engagement of the year!_  Lockwood and Carlyle to wed. "We're in no rush," says Lockwood. Carlyle: My six sister bridesmaid nightmare. "Elopement looks good to me."

Also inside EXCLUSIVE: At last, the untold story DEPRAC tried to quash - REVEALED - former top Fittes agent Quill Kipps, who was working closely with renowned Ghost Whisperer Lucy Carlyle, last year found himself POSSESSED by a terrifying type three spirit. BRAVERY - Miss Carlyle identified the phenomenon and wasted no time in seeking the help of her old team at Lockwood and Co. In a daring mission, Miss Carlyle used herself as BAIT to draw out the ghost. She attempted to use a silver potion to oust the evil spirit, but the ghost was too powerful. HERO: Anthony Lockwood, OBE, stepped in at the last minute and overpowered the spirit, saving the lives of both his colleagues.

"It was a team effort," he said. "Lucy was incredibly brave in knowingly spending time with Quill Kipps whilst he was possessed. She placed herself in great personal danger to save our friend. Quill is unharmed by his experience and I can confirm that removal of invading spirits is all part of the service offered by Lockwood and Co." FULL STORY INSIDE

SPECIAL - colour supplement - Shades of green - how to tell if your boyfriend is a ghost.

TV spot - New tonight, Quill Kipps' fresh late-night TV show,  _The Prisoner Within_ , ten pm.


	22. Epilogue

The letter was in George's handwriting. I carried it to my desk, which commanded a magnificent view from my new flat of the bins and the taxi cab firm over the road. If I stood on tiptoe I could see the roofs of Portland row. By mutual agreement I was closer to Lockwood and Co now, but still very much independent.

My eye fell on yesterday's pizza box, lying on the floor next to Lockwood's goggles and my pyjamas. In a fit of guilty domesticity I binned the box, and chucked the pyjamas and goggles into the bedroom.

As I was wondering why George had not just come round to tell me whatever it was himself, the key turned in my front door and Lockwood appeared. "Ah, you got it. George had to go out, but he was so pleased to have finally finished, he stuck a note under your door on the way past."

He pocketed his keys and came to stand by my desk. I smiled up at him, and he bent for a quick kiss. I ripped open the envelope.

'Dear Lucy,' it said, 'You know that we have been keeping the skull in the jar safely out of the way. Flo has it.'

I sighed. I did know. Nobody had felt able to destroy it without my permission, and nobody wanted to ask my permission when I was so angry with it. The Type Three was rare and valuable, despite what it had done. So they'd kept it, somewhere unknown to me, until we could make a sensible decision about it.

I hadn't realised it was with Flo, though. I hoped she had a thick skin.

'It's been desperate to talk to you,' went on George's letter. 'Obviously none of us could hear it, but I set out to understand its message, and wrote it down.'

I lay down the letter and looked up at Lockwood.

"He taught himself to lip-read," said Lockwood. "Took months."

I turned back to the letter. 'The ghost gets very frustrated trying to communicate with me, but it has never stopped trying to talk.'

I got up abruptly. The image of the skull and the ghost, trapped in the jar when I first saw it, came to me clearly. Its gestures and miming, its eagerness to get my attention.

'Anyway,' went on George, 'here's what it said.'

Lockwood and I stood and read together.

_Dear Lucy. I'm not sorry for what I did -_

"Well," I said, "this is a brilliant start. Has it ever heard of remorse?"

-  _because every moment was worth it to be alive again and with you. I am sorry that you preferred him to me._

"Again with the apology."

_I was not going to hurt him. I just wanted to -_

I turned the letter away from Lockwood for a moment and read on.

"What," he said.

"Hang on."

I read on. "Oh my god." Then I turned back so Lockwood could see too.  _...Get close to you. I told you I loved you and I meant it. You are the only person I can bear and who can bear me._

_Please forgive me. I don't ask to be let out since I know you won't. But just come and talk to me, you have no idea how alone I am. Flo Bones is so rude to me and she can't hear what I call her back._

_Please Lucy. Love from Jeffrey._

I choked back a laugh. Tears came into my eyes.

"Jeffrey," said Lockwood.

"Private joke." I lay down the letter.

"It loves you," said Lockwood, picking it up and reading. "It wanted to - My god, Lucy."

"Yes, I learned a few new words there."

"That's it. You are never to be alone in a room with it ever again."

"It's in a jar," I said.

"Lucy -"

"But I agree. Ghosts feed off the needs and desires of the living. It latched onto my loneliness -" I thought it unnecessary to mention anything about my desires - "and found a way to make me need it back. That's not healthy."

Lockwood gave me a look. It involved an aristocratic raised eyebrow, and was one I knew well. "But," he said.

"But I do feel sorry for it. I'd like to visit it. Chaperoned!"

"Hmmn," said Lockwood. He glanced into the bedroom. "Is that my favourite jumper on the floor?"

"Anyway," I said. "What news? What cases have we got coming in?'

He ran his hand through his hair and flashed the dazzling smile I'd first seen all those years ago. He was older now, of course, but the smile hadn't changed. The boy I'd first met was still there. But there  _was_  a difference in today's Lockwood. At last, his darkness, his hidden sorrow, had mostly gone. I'd always thought lonely boys were the best kissers, but it turned out that in this, as in other things, I was wrong.

Lockwood said, "Plenty of jobs. Interesting-looking phenomenon in Wembley, possibly a Limbless."

"Ooh."

"And bizarre sounds coming from an abandoned floor in one of London's top hotels. Very much your thing, I'd say."

"Yup."

"George will be back soon with the research, then we can work out a plan. Holly's on her way too. I've got teabags." He patted his coat pocket. "We can pick up cakes on the way."

I grabbed my own contributions. "Ryvita for Holly, liquorice for Flo. Yes."

Lockwood grinned. "Well then, shall we?"

It sounded like bliss to me. "Let's."

I grabbed my coat, and my own set of keys, and together we headed out to work.

* * *

The room was dark, of course, and I could not make out any details of this little corner of Flo's home. She wouldn't switch the light on and I wouldn't ask. It was enough of an intrusion to be here.

She pointed her penlight at the skull in the jar - under a cloth on a barrel in the corner. In front of the barrel was a small stool. This must be where George had sat all those months, trying to lip-read the ghost.

Flo handed me the torch and keft.

I sat on the stool and switched off the torch. I gave my eyes six seconds to adjust to the darkness, then pulled the covers off the skull's jar.

There it was - a faint green glow, and then suddenly, the face I knew so well.

It saw me, and its features blurred and shifted - so many times , so fast, that I couldn't focus on it. Then it steadied, and gave me its familiar sulky grimace.

At last it spoke.

_You took your time._

I smiled. "Hello, Jeffrey."

THE END


End file.
